FROM 
OUT  THE  VASTY 


Mrs.  Belloc  Lowndes 


• 


<o 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 


MRS.    BELLOC   LOWNDES 


By  MRS.    BELLOC  LOWNDES 

FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 
THE  LONELY  HOUSE 
GOOD  OLD  ANNA 

LOVE  AND  HATRED 
/ 

LILLA:  A  PART  OF  HER  LIFE 
THE  RED  CROSS  BARGE 

NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.    DORAN   COMPANY 


FROM    OUT   THE 
VASTY   DEEP 


BY 

MRS.  BELLOC  LOWNDES 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  LONELY  HOUSE,"  "LOVE  AND  HATRED,' 
"GOOD  OLD  ANNA,"  "THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR,"  ETC. 


NEW  ^SW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO 
A.    H.   FASS 

The  owner  of  the  real  "Wyndfell  Hall' 

in  memory  of 

many  happy  hours  spent  there 
by  his  friend  the  writer 


428095 


Glendower : 

ffl  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep" 

Hotspur : 

"Why,  so  can  I;  or  so  can  any  man : 
But  will  they  come,  when  you  do  call  for  them?" 

HENRY  IV. 


FROM   OUT   THE  VASTY   DEEP 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY 
DEEP 


CHAPTER  I 

I  ALWAYS  thought  that  you,  Pegler,  were  such  a  very 
sensible  woman." 

The  words  were  said  in  a  good-natured,  though  slightly 
vexed  tone;  and  a  curious  kind  of  smile  flitted  over  the 
rather  grim  face  of  the  person  to  whom  they  were 
addressed. 

"I've  never  troubled  you  before  in  this  exact  way,  have 
I,  ma'am?" 

"No,  Pegler.    That  you  certainly  have  not." 

Miss  Farrow  looked  up  from  the  very  comfortable  arm- 
chair where  she  was  sitting — leaning  back,  with  her  neatly 
shod,  beautifully  shaped  feet  stretched  out  to  the  log  fire. 
Her  maid  was  standing  a  little  to  the  right,  her  spare 
figure  and  sallow  face  lit  up  by  the  flickering,  shooting 
flames,  for  the  reading-lamp  at  Miss  Farrow's  elbow  was 
heavily  shaded. 

"D'you  really  mean  that  you  won't  sleep  next  door  to- 
night, Pegler?" 

"I  wouldn't  be  fit  to  do  my  work  to-morrow  if  I  did, 
ma'am."  And  Miss  Farrow  quite  understood  that  that 

ii 


12         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

wis/Pegler's  projite;  way  of  saying  that  she  most  definitely 
.did  refuse  to  sfeep'in  the  room  next  door. 
•'.;  *J;w&hjthe  ghost  haicome  in  here,  instead  of  worrying 
you !"  As  the  maid  made  no  answer  to  this  observation, 
her  mistress  went  on,  turning  round  so  that  she  could  look 
up  into  the  woman's  face :  "What  was  it  exactly  you  did 
see,  Pegler?"  And  as  the  other  still  remained  silent,  Miss 
Farrow  added:  "I  really  do  want  to  know!  You  see, 
Pegler — well,  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  I  have  a  very 
great  opinion  of  you." 

And  then,  to  the  speaker's  extreme  surprise,  there  came 
a  sudden  change  over  Pegler 's  face.  Her  pale  countenance 
flushed,  it  became  discomposed,  and  she  turned  her  head 
away  to  hide  the  springing  tears. 

Miss  Farrow  was  touched;  as  much  touched  as  her 
rather  hard  nature  would  allow  her  to  be.  This  woman 
had  been  her  good  and  faithful  friend,  as  well  as  servant, 
for  over  twelve  years. 

She  sprang  up  from  her  deep  chair  with  the  lightness 
of  a  girl,  though  she  was  over  forty ;  and  went  and  took 
the  other's  hand.  "Pegler!"  she  exclaimed.  "What's  the 
matter,  you  dear  old  thing?" 

But  Pegler  wrenched  away  her  hand,  rather  ungra- 
ciously. "After  two  such  nights  as  I've  had,"  she  mut- 
tered, "it's  no  wonder  I'm  a  bit  upset." 

Excellent  maid  though  she  was — Miss  Farrow  had 
never  known  anyone  who  could  do  hair  as  Pegler  could — 
the  woman  was  in  some  ways  very  unconventional,  very 
unlike  an  ordinary  lady's  maid. 

"Now  do  tell  me  exactly  what  happened  ?"  Miss  Far- 
row spoke  with  a  mixture  of  coaxing  and  kindly  authority. 
"What  do  you  think  you  saw?  I  need  hardly  tell  you 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         13 

that  7  don't  believe  in  ghosts."  As  the  maid  well  knew, 
the  speaker  might  have  finished  the  sentence  with  "or  in 
anything  else."  But  that  fact,  Pegler  being  the  manner 
of  woman  she  was,  did  not  detract  from  the  affection  and 
esteem  in  which  she  held  her  lady.  You  can't  have  every- 
thing— such  was  her  simple  philosophy — and  religious 
people  do  not  always  act  up  to  their  profession.  Miss 
Farrow,  at  any  rate  in  her  dealings  with  Pegler,  was 
always  better  than  her  word.  She  was  a  kind,  a  consid- 
erate, and  an  intelligent  mistress. 

So  it  was  that,  reluctantly,  Pegler  made  up  her  mind 
to  speak.  "I'd  like  to  say,  ma'am,"  she  began,  "that  no 
one  said  nothing  to  me  about  that  room  being  -haunted. 
You  was  the  first  that  mentioned  it  to  me,  after  I'd 
spoken  to  you  yesterday.  As  you  know,  ma'am,  the 
servants  here  are  a  job  lot ;  they  don't  know  nothing  about 
the  house.  'Twasn't  till  to-day  that  one  of  the  village 
people,  the  woman  at  the  general  shop  and  post  office,  let 
on  that  Wyndfell  Hall  was  well  known  to  be  a  ghosty 
place." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Pegler  added :  "Still,  as 
you  and  I  well  know,  ma'am,  tales  don't  lose  nothing  in 
the  telling." 

"Indeed  they  don't!  Never  mind  what  the  people  in 
the  village  say.  This  kind  of  strange,  lonely,  beautiful 
old  house  is  sure  to  be  'said  to  be  haunted.  What  /  want 
to  know  is  what  you  think  you  saw,  Pegler — — •"  The 
speaker  looked  sharply  into  the  woman's  face. 

"I  don't  like  to  see  you  standing,  ma'am,"  said  Pegler 
inconsequently.  "If  you'll  sit  down  in  your  chair  again 
I'll  tell  you  what  happened  to  me." 

Miss  Farrow  sank  gracefully  down  into  her  deep,  com- 


i4         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

fortable  chair.  Again  she  put  out  her  feet  to  the  fire,  for 
it  was  very  cold  on  this  23rd  of  December,  and  she  knew 
she  had  a  tiring,  probably  a  boring,  evening  before  her. 
Some  strangers  of  whom  she  knew  nothing,  and  cared 
less,  excepting  that  they  were  the  friends  of  her  friend 
and  host,  Lionel  Varick,  were  to  arrive  at  Wyndfell  Hall 
in  time  for  dinner.  It  was  now  six  o'clock. 

"Well,"  she  said  patiently,  "begin  at  the  beginning,  Peg- 
ler.  I  wish  you'd  sit  down  too — somehow  it  worries  me 
to  see  you  standing  there.  You'll  be  tempted  to  cut  your 
story  short." 

Pegler  smiled  a  thin  little  smile.  In  the  last  twelve  years 
Miss  Farrow  had  several  times  invited  her  to  sit  down, 
but  of  course  she  had  always  refused,  being  one  that  knew 
her  place.  She  had  only  sat  in  Miss  Farrow's  presence 
during  the  days  and  nights  when  she  had  nursed  her 
mistress  through  a  serious  illness — then,  of  course,  every- 
thing had  been  different,  and  she  had  had  to  sit  down 
sometimes. 

"The  day  before  yesterday — that  is  the  evening  Miss 
Bubbles  arrived,  ma'am — after  I'd  dressed  you  and  you'd 
gone  downstairs,  and  I'd  unpacked  for  Miss  Bubbles,  I 
went  into  my  room  and  thought  how  pleasant  it  looked. 
The  curtains  was  drawn,  and  there  was  a  nice  fire,  as  you 
know,  ma'am,  which  Mr.  Varick  so  kindly  ordered  for 
me,  and  which  I've  had  the  whole  week.  Also,  I  will  say 
for  Annie  that  even  if  she  is  a  temporary,  she  is  a  good 
housemaid,  making  the  girls  under  her  do  their  work 
properly." 

Pegler  drew  a  long  breath.  Then  she  went  on  again : 
"I  sat  down  just  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  I  turned  over 
queer — so  queer,  ma'am,  that  I  went  and  drew  the  cur- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP          15 

tains  of  one  of  the  windows.  Of  course  it's  a  much  bigger 
room  than  I'm  generally  accustomed  to  occupy,  as  you 
know,  ma'am.  And  I  just  threw  up  the  window — it's 
what  they  call  a  guillotine  window — and  there  I  saw  the 
water,  you  know,  ma'am,  in  what  they  call  the  moat " 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Farrow  languidly.  "Yes,  Pegler, 
go  on." 

"As  I  looked  down,  ma'am,  I  had  an  awful  turn.  There 
seemed  to  me  to  be  something  floating  about  in  the  water, 
a  little  narrow  thing  like  a  child's  body— and — and  all  on 
a  sudden  a  small  white  face  seemed  to  look  up  into  mine ! 
Oh,  it  was  'orrible !"  Pegler  did  not  often  drop  an  aitch, 
but  when  she  did  so  forget  herself,  she  did  it  thoroughly. 

"As  I  went  on  looking,  fascinated-like" — she  was  speak- 
ing very  slowly  now — "whatever  was  down  there  seemed 
to  melt  away.  I  didn't  say  nothing  that  evening  of  what 
had  happened  to  me,  but  I  couldn't  keep  myself  from 
thinking  of  it.  Well,  then,  ma'am,  as  you  know,  I  came 
and  undressed  you,  and  I  asked  you  if  you'd  like  the  door 
kept  open  between  our  two  rooms.  But  you  said  no, 
ma'am,  you'd  rather  it  was  shut.  So  then  I  went  to  bed." 

"And  you  say — you  admit,  Pegler — that  nothing  did 
happen  the' night  before  last  ?" 

Pegler  hesitated.  "Nothing  happened  exactly,"  she 
said.  "But  I  had  the  most  awful  feeling,  ma'am.  And 
yes — well,  something  did  happen!  I  heard  a  kind  of 
rustling  in  the  room.  Jt  would  leave  off  for  a  time,  and 
then  begin  again.  I  tried  to  put  it  down  to  a  mouse  or  a 
rat — or  something  of  that  sort." 

"That,"  said  Miss  Farrow  quietly,  "was  probably  what 
it  was,  Pegler." 

As  if  she  had  not  heard  her  lady's  remark,  the  maid 


1 6    FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

went  on:  "I'd  go  off  to  sleep,  and  then  suddenly,  I'd 
awake  and  hear  this  peculiar  rustle,  ma* am,  like  a  dress 
swishing  along — an  old-fashioned,  rich,  soft  silk,  such 
as  ladies  wore  in  the  old  days,  when  I  was  a  child.  But 
that  dress,  the  dress  I  heard  rustling,  ma'am,  was  a  bit 
older  than  that." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Pegler?" 

The  maid  remained  silent,  her  eyes  were  fixed;  it  was 
as  if  she  had  forgotten  where  she  was. 

"And  what  exactly  happened  last  night  ?" 

"Last  night,"  said  Pegler,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "last 
night,  ma'am — I  know  you  won't  believe  me — but  I  saw 
the  spirit !" 

Miss  Farrow  looked  up  into  the  woman's  face  with  an 
anxious,  searching  glance. 

She  felt  disturbed  and  worried.  A  great  deal  of  her 
material  comfort — almost,  she  might  have  truly  said, 
much  of  her  happiness  in  life — depended  on  Jane  Pegler. 
In  a  sense  Blanche  Farrow  had  but  two  close  friends  in 
the  world — her  host,  Lionel  Varick,  the  new  owner  of 
Wyndfell  Hall ;  and  the  plain,  spare,  elderly  woman  stand- 
ing now  before  her.  She  realized  with  a  sharp  pang  of 
concern  what  Pegler's  mental  defection  would  mean  to 
her.  It  would  be  dreadful,  dreadful,  if  Pegler  began  see- 
ing ghosts,  and  turning  hysterical. 

"What  was  the  spirit  like  ?"  she  asked  quietly. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  she  had  to  suppress  a  violent  in- 
clination to  burst  out  laughing.  For  Pegler  answered  with 
a  kind  of  cry,  "A  'orrible  happarition,  ma'am!" 

Miss  Farrow  could  not  help  observing  a  trifle  satir- 
ically :  "That  certainly  sounds  most  unpleasant." 

But  Pegler  went  on,  speaking  with  a  touch  of  excite- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP          17 

ment  very  unusual  with  her:  "It  was  a  woman — a 
woman  with  a  dreadful,  wicked,  spiteful  face!  Once  she 
came  up  close  to  my  bed,  and  I  wanted  to  scream  out, 
but  I  couldn't — my  throat  seemed  shut  up." 

"D'you  mean  you  actually  saw  what  you  took  to  be  a 
ghost?" 

"I  did  see  a  ghost,  ma'am;  not  a  doubt  of  it!  She 
walked  up  and  down  that  room  in  there,  wringing  her 
hands  all  the  time — I'd  heard  the  expression,  ma'am,  but 
I'd  never  seen  anyone  do  it" 

"Did  anything  else  happen?" 

"At  last  she  went  over  to  the  window,  and — and  I'm 
afraid  you  won't  believe  me,  ma'am — but  there  seemed 
no  curtains  there  any  more,  nothing  but  just  an  opening 
into  the  darkness.  I  saw  her  bend  over "  An  ex- 
pression of  terror  came  over  the  woman's  face. 

"But  how  could  you  see  her,"  asked  Miss  Farrow 
quickly,  "if  there  was  no  light  in  the  room?" 

"In  a  sort  of  way,"  said  Pegler  sombrely,  "the  spirit 
was  supplying  the  light,  as  it  were.  I  could  see  her  in  the 
darkness,  as  if  she  was  a  lamp  moving  about." 

"Oh,  Pegler,  Pegler!"  exclaimed  Miss  Farrow 
deprecatingly. 

"It's  true,  ma'am!  It's  true  as  I'm  standing  here." 
Pegler  would  have  liked  to  add  the  words  "So  help  me 
God !"  but  somehow  she  felt  that  these  words  would  not 
carry  any  added  conviction  to  her  mistress.  And,  indeed, 
they  would  not  have  done  so,  for  Miss  Farrow,  though 
she  was  much  too  polite  and  too  well-bred  ever  to  have 
said  so,  even  to  herself,  did  not  believe  in  a  Supreme  Be- 
ing. She  was  a  complete  materialist. 


1 8         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"And  then,  ma'am,  after  a  bit,  there  it  would  begin, 
constant-like,  all  over  again." 

"I  don't  understand.  .  .  ." 

"I'd  go  to  sleep,  and  tell  myself  maybe  that  it  was  all 
a  dream — argue  with  myself,  ma'am,  for  I'm  a  sensible 
woman.  And  then  all  at  once  I'd  hear  that  rustle  again ! 
I'd  try  not  to  open  my  eyes,  but  somehow  I  felt  I  must 
see  what  was  happening.  So  I'd  look  at  last — and  there 
she'd  be!  Walking  up  and  down,  walking  up  and  down, 
her  face — oh,  ma'am,  her  face  staring-like  most  'orrible — 
and  wringing  her  hands.  Then  she'd  go  over  to  the  win- 
dow, lean  out,  and  disappear,  down  into  the  black  water!" 

In  a  calmer  tone  Pegler  added :  "The  moat  used  to  be 
much  bigger  and  deeper  than  it  is  now,  ma'am — so  they 
all  say." 

"All?"  said  Miss  Farrow  sharply.  "Who  do  you  mean 
by  'all'?" 

"The  people  about  the  place,  ma'am." 

"I  can't  help  wishing,  Pegler,  that  you  hadn't  told  this 
strange  story  to  the  servants.  You  see  it  makes  it  so 
awkward  for  Mr.  Varick." 

Pegler  flushed  uncomfortably.  "I  was  that  scared," 
she  murmured,  "that  I  felt  I  must  tell  somebody,  and  if 
you  tell  one,  as  I  did,  you  tell  all.  I'm  sorry  I  did  it, 
ma'am,  for  I'm  afraid  I've  inconvenienced  you." 

"It  can't  be  helped,"  said  Miss  Farrow  good-naturedly. 
"I  know  you  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  you  could  have 
helped  it,  Pegler.  But  of  course  in  a  way  it's  unlucky." 

"I've  pointed  out  to  them  all  that  there  never  is  but 
one  room  haunted  in  a  house  as  a  rule,"  said  the  maid 
eagerly,  "and  I  think  they  all  quite  sees  that,  ma'am.  Be- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP          19 

sides,  they're  very  pleased  with  Mr.  Varick.  You  know 
what  he  did  to-day,  ma'am?" 

"No,"  said  Miss  Farrow,  looking  up  and  smiling,  "what 
did  he  do?" 

"He  called  them  all  together,  without  distinction  of 
class,  so  to  speak,  ma'am,  and  he  told  them  that  if  he  was 
pleased  with  the  way  in  which  his  Chrismas  party  went 
off,  he'd  give  them  each  a  five-pound  note  at  the  end  of 
the  month.  It  made  them  forget  the  haunted  room,  I  can 
tell  you,  ma'am !"  She  added  grudgingly,  "He  is  a  kind 
gentleman,  and  no  mistake." 

"Indeed  he  is !  I'm  glad  that  you  see  that  now,  Pegler." 
Miss  Farrow  spoke  with  a  touch  of  meaning  in  her  voice. 
"I  did  a  very  good  turn  for  myself  when  I  got  him  out 
of  that  queer  scrape  years  ago." 

"Why  yes,  ma'am,  I  suppose  you  did."  But  Pegler's 
tone  was  not  as  hearty  as  that  of  her  lady. 

There  was  a  pause.  "Then  what  have  you  settled  to  do 
about  to-night?" 

"If  you  don't  mind,  ma'am — I'm  arranging  to  sleep  in 
what  they  call  the  second  maid's  room.  There  is  a  bell 
through,  ma'am,  but  you'll  have  to  go  into  the  next  room 
to  ring  it,  for  you  know,  ma'am,  that  it's  the  next  room 
that  ought  to  have  been  your  room  by  rights." 

"I  wish  now  that  I'd  taken  it  and  put  you  in  here,"  said 
Miss  Farrow  ruefully. 

"They're  going  to  keep  up  a  good  fire  there.  So  when 
you  go  in  you  won't  get  a  chill." 

'That  does  seem  luxurious,"  said  Miss  Farrow,  smiling. 
She  loved  luxury,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  think  that  there 
should  be  a  fire  kept  up  in  an  empty  room  just  so  that  she 


20         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

shouldn't  feel  a  chill  when  she  went  in  for  a  moment  to 
ring  for  her  maid ! 

"By  the  way,  I  hope  there's  a  fireplace  in  your  room, 
Pegler" — the  words  were  uttered  solicitously. 

"No,  there  isn't,  ma'am.  But  I  don't  mind  that.  I 
don't  much  care  about  a  fire." 

"There's  no  accounting  for  taste!" 

Miss  Farrow  took  up  her  book  again,  and  Pegler,  as 
was  her  way,  slid  noiselessly  from  the  room — not  through 
the  door  leading  into  the  haunted  chamber,  but  out  on  to 
the  beautiful  panelled  landing,  now  gay  with  bowls  of  hot- 
house flowers  which'  had  come  down  from  London  that 
morning  by  passenger  train,  and  been  brought  by  car  all 
the  way  from  Newmarket. 


CHAPTER   II 

^T^HE  book  Miss  Farrow  held  in  her  hand  was  an 
X  amusing  book,  the  latest  volume  of  some  rather 
lively  French  memoirs,  but  she  put  it  down  after  a  very 
few  moments,  and,  leaning  forward,  held  out  her  hands 
to  the  fire.  They  were  not  pretty  hands:  though  small 
and  well-shaped,  there  was  something  just  a  little  claw- 
like  about  them;  but  they  were  very  white,  and  her  al- 
mond-shaped nails,  admirably  manicured,  gleamed  in  the 
soft  red  light. 

Yes,  in  spite  of  this  stupid  little  contretemps  about  Peg- 
ler,  she  was  glad  indeed  that  circumstances  over  which 
she  had  had  rather  more  control  than  she  liked  to  think 
had  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  go  out  to  Monte  Carlo 
this  winter.  She  had  been  sharply  vexed,  beside  herself 
with  annoyance,  almost  tempted  to  do  what  she  had  never 
yet  done — that  is,  to  ask  Lionel  Varick,  now  so  delight- 
fully prosperous,  to  lend  her  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds. 
But  she  had  resisted  the  impulse,  and  she  was  now  glad 
of  it. 

After  all,  there's  no  place  like  dear  old  England  at 
Christmas  time.  How  much  nicer,  too,  is  a  bachelor  host 
than  a  hostess!  A  bachelor  host?  No,  not  exactly  a 
bachelor  host,  for  Lionel  Varick  was  a  widower.  Twice 
a  widower,  if  the  truth  were  known.  But  the  truth,  for- 
tunately, is  not  always  known,  and  Blanche  Farrow 
doubted  if  any  other  member  of  the  circle  of  friends  and 

21 


22         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

acquaintances  he  had  picked  up  in  his  adventurous,  curious 
life  knew  of  that  first — now  evidently  by  him  almost  for- 
gotten— marriage.  It  had  taken  place  years  ago,  when 
Varick  was  still  a  very  young  man,  and  to  a  woman  not 
of  his  own  class.  They  had  separated,  and  then,  rather 
oddly,  come  together  again.  Even  so,  her  premature 
death  had  been  for  him  a  fortunate  circumstance. 

It  was  not  Varick  who  had  told  Blanche  Farrow  of  that 
painful  episode  of  his  past  life.  The  story  had  come  to 
her  knowledge  in  a  curious,  accidental  fashion,  and  she 
had  thought  it  only  fair  to  tell  him  what  she  had  learned — • 
and  then,  half  reluctantly,  he  had  revealed  something  of 
what  he  had  suffered  through  that  early  act  of  folly.  But 
they  had  only  spoken  of  it  once. 

Varick' s  second  marriage,  Miss  Farrow  was  almost 
tempted  to  call  it  his  real  marriage,  the  news  of  which  he 
had  conveyed  to  his  good  friend  in  a  laconic  note,  had 
surprised  her  very  much. 

The  news  had  found  her  far  away,  in  Portugal,  where, 
as  just  a  few  English  people  know,  there  is  more  than  one 
Casino  where  mild  gambling  can  be  pursued  under  pleas- 
ant conditions.  Blanche  Farrow  would  have  been  hurt  if 
someone  had  told  her  that  in  far-away  Portugal  Lionel 
Varick  and  his  affairs  had  not  meant  quite  so  much  to  her 
as  they  would  have  done  if  she  had  been  nearer  home. 
Still,  she  had  felt  a  pang.  A  man-friend  married  is  often 
a  man-friend  marred.  But  she  had  been  very  glad  to 
gather,  reading  between  the  lines  of  his  note,  that  the  lady 
in  question  was  well  off.  Varick  was  one  of  those  men 
to  whom  the  possession  of  money  is  as  essential  to  life 
as  the  air  they  breathe  is  to  most  human  beings.  Till  this 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         23 

unexpected  second  marriage  of  his  he  had  often  been 
obliged  to  live  on,  and  by,  his  wits. 

Then,  some  months  later — for  she  and  Varick  were  not 
given  to  writing  to  one  another  when  apart,  their  friend- 
ship had  never  been  of  that  texture — she  had  received  a 
sad  letter  from  him  saying  that  his  wife  was  seriously  ill. 
The  letter  had  implied,  too,  that  he  ought  to  have  been 
told,  before  the  marriage  had  taken  place,  that  his  wife's 
family  had  been  one  riddled  with  consumption.  Blanche 
had  written  back  at  once — by  that  time  she  was  a  good 
deal  nearer  home  than  Portugal,  though  still  abroad — 
asking  if  she  could  "do  anything?"  And  he  had  answered 
that  no,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  "Poor  Milly" 
had  a  horror  of  sanatoriums,  so  he  was  going  to  take  her 
to  some  quiet  place  on  the  south  coast.  He  had  ended 
his  note  with  the  words :  "I  do  not  think  it  can  last  long 
now,  and  I  rather  hope  it  won't.  It  is  very  painful  for 
her,  as  well  as  for  me."  And  it  had  not  lasted  very  long. 
Seven  weeks  later  Miss  Farrow  had  read  in  the  first 
column  of  the  Times  the  announcement :  "Millicent,  only 
daughter  of  the  late  George  Fauncey,  of  Wyndfell  Hall, 
Suffolk,  and  the  beloved  wife  of  Lionel  Varick/' 

She  had  been  surprised  at  the  addition  of  the  word  "be- 
loved." Somehow  it  was  not  like  the  man  she  thought 
she  knew  so  well  to  put  that  word  in. 

That  was  just  over  a  year  ago.  But  when  she  had  met 
Varick  again  she  had  seen  with  real  relief  that  he  was 
quite  unchanged — those  brief  months  of  wedded  life  had 
not  apparently  altered  him  at  all.  There  was,  however, 
one  great  difference — he  was  quite  at  ease  about  money. 
That  was  all — but  that  was  a  great  deal !  Blanche  Farrow 
and  Lionel  Varick  had  at  any  rate  one  thing  in  common — 


24         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

they  both  felt  a  horror  of  poverty,  and  all  that  poverty 
implies. 

Gradually  Miss  Farrow  had  discovered  a  few  partic- 
ulars about  her  friend's  dead  wife.  Millicent  Fauncey 
had  been  the  only  child  of  a  rather  eccentric  Suffolk  squire, 
a  man  of  great  taste,  known  in  the  art  world  of  London 
as  a  collector  of  fine  Jacobean  furniture,  long  before  Ja- 
cobean furniture  had  become  the  rage.  After  her  father's 
death  his  daughter,  having  let  Wyndfell  Hall,  had  wan- 
dered about  the  world  with  a  companion  till  she  had 
drifted  across  her  future  husband's  path  at  an  hotel  in 
Florence. 

"What  attracted  me,"  Lionel  Varick  had  explained 
rather  awkwardly  on  the  only  occasion  when  he  had  really 
talked  of  his  late  wife  to  Blanche  Farrow,  "was  her  help- 
lessness, and,  yes,  a  kind  of  simplicity." 

Blanche  had  looked  at  him  a  little  sharply.  She  had 
never  known  Lionel  attracted  by  weakness  or  simplicity 
before.  All  women  seemed  attracted  by  him — but  he  was 
by  no  means  attracted  by  all  women. 

"Poor  Milly  didn't  care  for  Wyndfell  Hall,"  he  had 
gone  on,  "for  she  spent  a  very  lonely,  dull  girlhood  there. 
But  it's  a  delightful  place,  and  I  hope  to  live  there  as 
soon  as  I  can  get  the  people  out  to  whom  it  is  now  let. 
'Twon't  be  an  easy  job,  for  they're  devoted  to  it." 

Of  course  he  had  got  them  out  very  soon,  for,  as 
Blanche  Farrow  now  reminded  herself,  Lionel  Varick  had 
an  extraordinary  power  of  getting  his  own  way,  in  little 
and  big  things  alike. 

It  was  uncommonly  nice  of  Lionel  to  have  asked  her 
to  be  informal  hostess  of  his  first  house  party !  Unluckily 
it  was  an  oddly  composed  party,  not  so  happily  chosen  as 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         25 

it  might  have  been,  and  she  wondered  uneasily  whether 
it  would  be  a  success.  She  had  never  met  three  of  the 
people  who  were  coming  to-night — a  Mr.  and  Miss  Burn- 
aby,  an  old-fashioned  and,  she  gathered,  well-to-do  brother 
and  sister,  and  their  niece,  Helen  Brabazon.  Miss  Brab- 
azon  had  been  an  intimate  friend,  Miss  Farrow  under- 
stood the  only  really  intimate  friend,  of  Lionel  Varick' s 
late  wife.  He  had  spoken  of  this  girl,  Helen  Brabazon, 
with  great  regard  and  liking — with  rather  more  regard 
and  liking  than  he  generally  spoke  of  any  woman. 

"She  was  most  awfully  kind  to  me  during  that  dreadful 
time  at  Redsands,"  he  had  said  only  yesterday.  And 
Blanche  had  understood  the  "dreadful  time"  referred  to 
the  last  weeks  of  his  wife's  life.  "I've  been  to  the  Burn- 
abys'  house  a  few  times,  and  I've  dined  there  twice — an 
infamously  bad  cook,  but  very  good  wine — you  know  the 
sort  of  thing?" 

Remembering  that  remark,  Blanche  now  asked  herself 
why  Lionel  had  included  these  tiresome,  old-fashioned 
people  in  his  party.  Then  she  told  herself  that  it  was 
doubtless  because  the  niece,  who  lived  with  them,  couldn't 
leave  them  to  a  solitary  Christmas. 

Another  guest  who  was  not  likely  to  add  much  in  the 
way  of  entertainment  to  the  party  was  an  enormously 
rich  man  called  James  Tapster.  Tapster  was  a  cynical, 
rather  unpleasant  person,  yet  on  one  occasion  he  had 
helped  Varick  out  of  a  disagreeable  scrape. 

If  the  host  had  had  his  way  there  would  also  have  been 
in  the  party  a  certain  Dr.  Panton.  But  at  the  last  mo- 
ment he  had  had  to  "chuck."  There  was  a  hope,  however, 
that  he  might  be  able  to  come  after  Christmas.  Dr. 
Panton  was  also  associated  with  the  late  Mrs.  Varick. 


26         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

He  had  attended  her  during  the  last  long  weeks  of  her  life. 

Blanche  Farrow's  face  unconsciously  brightened  as  she 
remembered  Sir  Lyon  Dilsford.  He  was  an  intelligent, 
impecunious,  pleasant  kind  of  man,  still,  like  his  host,  on 
the  sunny  side  of  forty.  Sir  Lyon  was  "in  the  City," 
as  are  now  so  many  men  of  his  class  and  kind.  He  took 
his  work  seriously,  and  spent  many  hours  of  each  day 
east  of  Temple  Bar.  By  way  of  relaxation  he  helped 
to  run  an  Oxford  College  East-End  Settlement.  "A  good 
chap," — that  was  how  Blanche  summed  him  up  to  herself. 

Lionel  had  asked  her  if  she  could  think  of  any  young 
people  to  ask,  and  she  had  suggested,  with  some  hesita- 
tion, her  own  niece,  Bubbles  Dunster,  and  Bubbles'  fa- 
vourite dancing  partner,  a  young  man  called  Bill  Don- 
nington.  Bubbles  had  arrived  at  Wyndfell  Hall  two  days 
ago.  Donnington  had  not  been  able  to  leave  London 
till  to-day. 

Bubbles?  Blanche  Farrow's  brows  knit  themselves  as 
she  thought  of  her  niece,  namesake,  and  godchild. 

'Bubbles  was  a  strange  girl,  but  then  so  many  girls  are 
strange  nowadays !  Though  an  only  child,  and  the  apple 
of  her  widowed  father's  eyes,  she  had  deliberately  left 
her  home  two  years  ago,  and  set  up  for  herself  in  London, 
nominally  to  study  art.  At  once  she  had  become  a  great 
success — the  kind  of  success  that  counts  nowadays.  Bub- 
bles' photograph  was  always  appearing  in  the  Sketch  and 
in  the  Daily  Mirror.  She  was  constantly  roped  in  to 
help  in  any  smart  charity  affair,  and  she  could  dance,  act, 
and  sell,  with  the  best.  She  was  as  popular  with  women 
as  with  men,  for  there  was  something  disarming,  attach- 
ing, almost  elfish,  in  Bubbles  Dunster's  charm.  For  one 
thing,  she  was  so  good-natured,  so  kindly,  so  always  eager 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         27 

to  do  someone  a  good  turn — and  last,  not  least,  she  had 
inherited  her  aunt's  cleverness  about  clothes !  She  dressed 
in  a  way  which  Blanche  Farrow  thought  ridiculously  outre 
and  queer,  but  still,  somehow,  she  always  looked  well- 
dressed.  And  though  she  had  never  been  taught  dress- 
making, she  could  make  her  own  clothes  when  put  to  it, 
and  was  always  willing  to  help  other  people  with  theirs. 

Hugh  Dunster,  Bubbles'  father,  did  not  often  favour 
his  sister-in-law  with  a  letter,  but  she  had  had  a  letter 
from  him  three  days  ago,  of  which  the  most  important 
passage  ran:  "I  understand  that  Bubbles  is  going  to 
spend  Christmas  with  you.  I  wish  you'd  say  a  word  to 
her  about  all  this  spiritualistic  rot.  She  seems  to  be 
getting  deeper  and  deeper  into  it.  It's  impairing  her 
looks,  making  her  nervous  and  almost  hysterical- — in  a 
word,  quite  unlike  herself.  I  spoke  to  her  some  time  ago, 
and  desired  her  most  earnestly  to  desist  from  it.  But  a 
father  has  no  power  nowadays !  I  have  talked  the  matter 
over  with  young  Donnington  (of  whom  I  sometimes  sus- 
pect she  is  fonder  than  she  knows),  and  he  quite  agrees 
with  me.  After  all,  she's  a  child  still,  and  doesn't  realize 
what  vieux  feu  all  that  sort  of  thing  is.  I  insisted  on 
reading  to  her  'Sludge,  the  Medium,'  but  it  made  no  im- 
pression on  her !  In  a  sense  I've  only  myself  to  thank,  for 
I  used  to  amuse  myself  in  testing  her  amazing  thought- 
reading  powers  when  she  was  a  little  girl." 

Bubbles  had  now  been  at  Wyndfell  Hall  two  whole 
days,  and  so  far  her  aunt  had  said  nothing  to  her.  Some- 
how she  felt  a  certain  shyness  of  approaching  the  subject. 
In  so  far  as  she  had  ever  thought  about  it — and  she  had 
never  really  thought  about  it  at  all — Miss  Farrow  re- 
garded all  that  she  knew  of  spiritualism  as  a  gigantic 


28         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

fraud.  It  annoyed  her  fastidiousness  to  think  that  her 
own  niece  should  be  in  any  way  associated  with  that 
kind  of  thing.  She  realized  the  temptation  it  must  offer 
to  a  clever  girl  who,  as  her  father  truly  said,  had  had  as  a 
child  an  uncanny  power  of  thought-reading,  and  of  "will- 
ing" people  to  do  what  she  liked. 

Blanche  Farrow  smiled  and  sighed  as  she  stared  into 
the  fire.  How  the  world  had  changed!  She  could  not 
imagine  her  own  father,  though  he  had  been  far  less  con- 
ventional than  was  Hugh  Dunster,  talking  her  over  with 
a  young  man. 

Poor  Bill  Donnington!  Of  course  he  was  devoted  to 
Bubbles — her  slave,  in  fact.  Blanche  had  only  seen  him 
once ;  she  had  thought  him  sensible,  undistinguished,  com- 
monplace. She  knew  that  he  was  the  third  or  fourth  son 
of  a  worthy  North-country  parson — in  other  words,  he 
"hadn't  a  bob."  He  was,  of  course,  the  last  man  Bubbles 
would  ever  think  of  marrying.  Bubbles,  like  most  of  her 
set,  was  keenly  alive  to  the  value  of  money.  Bubbles, 
as  likely  as  not,  would  make  a  set,  half  in  fun,  half  in 
earnest,  at  James  Tapster! 

To  tell  the  truth,  Miss  Farrow  had  not  forgotten  Bub- 
bles when  she  had  assented  to  Lionel  Varick's  suggestion 
that  rich,  if  dull-witted,  James  Tapster  should  be  included 

in  the  party. 

*  *  #  #  * 

In  what  was  called  the  moat  garden  of  Wyndfell  Hall, 
twilight  was  deepening  into  night.  But  Lionel  Varick, 
who  was  now  pacing  up  and  down  the  broad  path  which 
followed  the  course  of  the  moat,  could  still  see,  sharply 
outlined  against  the  pale  winter  sky,  the  vision  of  tranquil 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         29 

beauty  and  the  storehouse  of  archaeological  and  anti- 
quarian interest  which  was  now  his  home. 

By  his  special  orders  the  windows  had  been  left  un- 
curtained. There  were  lights  in  a  great  number  of  the 
rooms — indeed,  the  lower  part  of  the  house  was  bril- 
liantly illuminated.  But  as  the  windows  in  the  beautiful 
linen-panelled  hall  were  diamond-paned,  the  brilliance  was 
softened,  and  there  was  something  deliciously  welcoming, 
almost  fairy-like,  in  the  picture  the  old  house  presented  to 
its  new  owner's  eager  gaze. 

After  a  while  he  stayed  his  steps  near  the  narrow  brick 
bridge  which  spanned  the  moat  where  a  carriage  road 
connected  the  domain  of  Wyndfell  Hall  with  the  outside 
world,  and,  as  he  stood  there  in  the  gathering  twilight, 
he  looked  a  romantic  figure.  Tall  and  well-built,  he  took, 
perhaps,  an  almost  excessive  care  over  his  dress.  Yet 
there  was  nothing  effeminate  or  foppish  about  his 
appearance. 

A  follower  of  that  now  forgotten  science,  phrenology, 
would  have  been  impressed  by  Lionel  Varick's  head.  It 
was  large  and  well-shaped,  with  a  great  deal  of  almost 
golden  hair,  now  showing  a  white  threa'd  or  two,  which 
did  not,  however,  detract  from  his  look  of  youth.  He  had 
a  fine  broad  forehead;  deep,  well-set  grey  eyes;  and  a 
beautiful,  sensitive  mouth,  which  he  took  care  not  to  con- 
ceal with  a  moustache.  Thus  in  almost  any  company 
he  would  have  looked  striking  and  distinguished — the  sort 
of  man  of  whom  people  ask,  "Who  is  that  standing  over 
there?" 

Varick  was  a  man  of  moods — subject,  that  is,  to  fits 
of  exultation  and  of  depression — and  yet  with  an  amaz- 


30         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

ing  power  of  self-control,  and  of  entirely  hiding  what  he 
felt  from  those  about  him. 

To-night  his  mood  was  one  of  exultation.  He  almost 
felt  what  Scots  call  "fey."  Something  seemed  to  tell 
him  that  he  was  within  reach  of  the  fruition  of  desires 
which,  even  in  his  most  confident  moments,  had  appeared 
till  now  wildly  out  of  any  possibility  of  attainment.  He 
came,  on  both  his  father's  and  his  mother's  side,  of  people 
who  had  lived  for  centuries  the  secure,  pleasant  life  of 
the  English  county  gentry.  But  instead  of  taking  acf- 
vantage  of  their  opportunities,  the  Varicks  had  gone  not 
upwards,  but  steadily  downwards — the  final  crash  having 
been  owing  to  the  folly,  indeed  the  far  more  than  folly, 
as  Lionel  Varick  had  come  to  know  when  still  a  child,  of 
his  own  father. 

Lionel's  father  had  not  lived  long  after  his  disgraceful 
bankruptcy.  But  he  had  had  time  to  imbue  his  boy  with 
an  intense  pride  in  the  past  glories  of  the  Varick  family. 
So  it  was  that  the  shabby,  ugly  little  villa  where  his  boy- 
hood had  been  spent  on  the  outskirts  of  a  town  famous 
for  its  grammar-school,  and  where  his  mother  settled 
for  her  boy's  sake  after  her  husband's  death,  had  been 
peopled  to  young  Varick  with  visions  of  just  such  a 
country  home  as  was  this  wonderful  old  house  now  be- 
fore him. 

No  wonder  he  felt  "fey"  to-night.  Everything  was 
falling  out  as  he  had  hoped  it  would  do.  He  had  staked 
very  high — staked,  indeed,  all  that  a  man  can  stake  in  our 
complex  civilization,  and  he  had  won !  In  the  whole  wide 
world  there  was  only  one  human  being  who  wished  him 
ill.  This  was  an  elderly  woman,  named  Julia  Pigchalke, 
who  had  been  his  late  wife's  one-time  governess  and  com- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         3x 

panion.  She  had  been  his  enemy  from  the  first  day  they 
had  met,  and  she  had  done  her  utmost  to  prevent  his 
marriage  to  her  employer.  Even  now,  in  spite  of  what 
poor  Milly's  own  solicitor  called  his  "thoughtful  gen- 
erosity" to  Miss  Pigchalke,  the  woman  was  pursuing 
Varick  with  an  almost  insane  hatred.  About  six  months 
ago  she  had  called  on  Dr.  Panton,  the  clever  young  medi- 
cal man  who  had  attended  poor  Mrs.  Varick  during  her 
last  illness.  She  had  formulated  vague  accusations  against 
Varick — accusations  of  cruelty  and  neglect  of  so  absurd 
a  nature  that  they  refuted  themselves.  Miss  Pigchalke's 
behaviour  was  the  more  monstrous  that  she  had  already 
received  the  first  fifty  pounds  of  the  hundred-pound  pen- 
sion her  friend's  widower  had  arranged  to  give  her. 

In  a  will  made  before  her  marriage,  the  late  Mrs.  Varick 
had  left  her  companion  two  thousand  pounds,  and  though 
the  legacy  had  been  omitted  from  her  final  will,  Varick 
had  of  his  own  accord  suggested  that  he  should  allow 
Miss  Pigchalke  a  hundred  a  year.  She  had  begun  by 
sending  back  the  first  half-yearly  cheque;  but  she  had 
finally  accepted  it!  To-night  he  reminded  himself  with 
satisfaction  that  the  second  fifty  pounds  had  already  been 
sent  her,  and  that  this  time  she  would  evidently  make  no 
bones  about  keeping  the  money. 

Making  a  determined  effort,  he  chased  her  sinister 
image  from  his  thoughts,  and  turned  his  mind  to  the  still 
attractive  woman  who  was  about  to  act  as  hostess  to  his 
Christmas  party. 

His  keen  face  softened  as  he  thought  of  Blanche  Far- 
row. Poor,  proud,  well-bred  and  pleasant,  poor  only  in 
a  relative  sense,  for  she  was  the  only  unmarried  daughter 
of  an  Irish  peer  whose  title  had  passed  away  to  a  distant 


32         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

cousin,  Miss  Farrow  could  have  lived  in  comfort  and  in 
dignity  on  what  income  she  had,  but  for  one  inexplicable 
failing — the  more  old-fashioned  and  severe  of  her  friends 
and  relatives  called  it  a  vice. 

Soon  after  she  had  come  into  the  enjoyment  of  her 
few  hundreds  a  year,  some  rich,  idle  acquaintance  had 
taken  Blanche  to  Monte  Carlo,  and  there,  like  a  duck  to 
water,  she  had  taken  to  play!  Henceforth  gambling — 
any  kind  of  gambling — had  become  her  absorbing  interest 
in  life.  It  was  well  indeed  that  what  fortune  she  had  was 
strictly  settled  on  her  sisters'  children,  her  two  brothers- 
in-law  being  her  trustees.  With  one  of  them,  who  was 
really  wealthy,  she  had  long  ago  quarrelled.  With  the 
other,  now  a  widower,  with  only  a  life  interest  in  his 
estate,  she  was  on  coldly  cordial  terms,  and  sometimes, 
as  was  the  case  now,  acted  as  chaperon  to  his  only  child, 
her  niece  and  namesake,  Bubbles  Dunster. 

Blanche  Farrow  never  begged  or  borrowed.  When 
more  hard  hit  than  usual,  she  retired,  alone  with  her  faith- 
ful maid,  to  some  cheap  corner  of  the  Continent;  and  as 
she  kept  her  money  worries  to  herself ,  she  was  well  liked 
and  popular  with  a  considerable  circle. 

Such  was  the  human  being  who  in  a  sense  was  Lionel 
Varick's  only  close  friend.  They  had  met  in  a  strange 
way,  some  ten  years  ago,  in  what  Miss  Farrow's  sterner 
brother-in-law  had  called  a  gambling  hell.  And,  just  as 
we  know  that  sometimes  Satan  will  be  found  rebuking 
sin,  so  Blanche  Farrow  had  set  herself  to  stop  the  then 
young  Lionel  Varick  on  the  brink.  He  had  been  in  love 
with  her  at  that  time,  and  on  the  most  unpleasant  evening 
when  a  cosy  flat  in  Jermyn  Street  had  been  raided  by  the 
police,  he  had  given  Blanche  Farrow  his  word  that  he 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         33 

would  never  play  again ;  and  he  had  kept  his  word.  He 
alone  knew  how  grateful  he  had  cause  to  be  to  the  woman 
who  had  saved  him  from  joining  the  doomed  throng 
who  only  live  for  play. 

And  now  there  was  still  to  their  friendship  just  that 
delightful  little  touch  of  sentiment  which  adds  salt  and 
savour  to  almost  every  relation  between  a  man  and  a 
woman.  Though  Blanche  was  some  years  older  than 
Lionel,  she  looked,  if  anything,  younger  than  he  did,  for 
she  had  the  slim,  upright  figure,  the  pretty  soft  brown 
hair,  and  the  delicate,  finaly  modelled  features  which  keep 
so  many  an  Englishwoman  of  her  type  and  class  young — 
young,  if  not  in  years,  yet  young  in  everything  else  that 
counts.  Even  what  she  sometimes  playfully  called  her 
petit  vice  had  not  made  her  haggard  or  worn,  and  she 
had  never  lost  interest  in  becoming,  well-made  clothes. 

Blanche  Farrow  thought  she  knew  everything  there 
was  to  know  about  Lionel  Varick,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  did  know  a  great  deal  no  one  else  knew,  though 
not  quite  as  much  as  she  believed.  She  knew  him  to  be  a 
hedonist,  a  materialist,  a  man  who  had  very  few  scruples. 
But  not  even  to  herself  would  she  have  allowed  him  to  be 
called  by  the  ugly  name  of  adventurer.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  truer  to  say — for  she  was  a  very  clever  woman — that 
even  if,  deep  in  her  heart,  she  must  have  admitted  that 
such  a  name  would  have  once  suited  him,  she  could  now 
gladly  tell  herself  that  "all  that"  lay  far  behind  him.  As 
we  have  seen,  he  owed  this  change  in  his  circumstances 
to  a  happy  draw  in  the  lottery  of  marriage,  a  draw  which 
has  so  often  turned  an  adventurer  of  sorts  into  3.  man  of 
substance  and  integrity. 


CHAPTER  III 

THERE  is  generally  something  a  little  dull  and  for- 
mal during  the  first  evening  of  a  country  house 
party;  and  if  this  is  true  when  most  of  the  people  know 
each  other,  how  far  more  so  is  it  the  case  with  such  a 
party  as  that  which  was  now  gathered  together  at  Wynd- 
f ell  Hall! 

Lionel  Varick  sat  at  one  end  of  the  long  oak  refectory 
table,  Blanche  Farrow  at  the  other.  But  though  the 
table  was  far  wider  than  are  most  refectory  tables  (it  was 
believed  to  be,  because  of  its  width,  a  unique  specimen), 
yet  Blanche,  very  soon  after  they  had  sat  down,  told 
herself  that  there  was  something  to  be  said,  after  all, 
for  the  old-fashioned,  Victorian  mahogany.  Such  a  party 
as  was  this  party  would  have  sorted  themselves  out,  and 
really  enjoyed  themselves  much  more,  sitting  in  couples 
round  an  ordinary  dining-table,  than  at  this  narrow,  erst- 
while monastic  board.  Here  they  were  just  a  little  bit 
too  near  together — too  much  vis-a-vis,  so  Blanche  put  it 
to  herself  with  a  dissatisfied  feeling. 

But  soon  things  began  going  a  little  better.  It  had 
been  her  suggestion  that  champagne  should  be  offered  with 
the  soup,  and  already  it  was  having  an  effect.  She  was 
relieved  to  see  that  the  oddly  assorted  men  and  women 
about  her  were  brisking  up,  and  beginning  to  talk,  even 
to  laugh,  with  one  another. 

On  the  host's  right  sat  Miss  Burnaby.  She  was  at 

34 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         35 

once  quaint  and  commonplace  looking,  the  most  notice- 
able thing  about  her  being  the  fact  that  she  wore  a  cap. 
It  was  made  of  fine  Mechlin  lace  threaded  with  pale-blue 
ribbon,  and,  to  the  woman  now  looking  at  her,  suggested 
an  interesting  survival  of  the  Victorian  age.  Quite  old 
ladies  had  worn  such  caps  when  she,  Blanche  Farrow, 
was  a  child ! 

The  rest  of  Miss  Burnaby's  costume  consisted  of  a  high 
black  silk  dress,  trimmed  with  splendid  point  lace. 

Miss  Burnaby  was  evidently  enjoying  herself.  She  had 
taken  a  glass  of  sherry,  was  showing  no  fear  of  her 
champagne,  and  had  just  helped  herself  substantially  to 
the  delicious  sole  which  was  one  of  the  special  triumphs 
of  the  French  chef  who  had  come  down  for  a  month  to 
Wyndfell  Hall.  He  and  Miss  Farrow  had  discussed  to- 
night's menu  together  that  morning,  and  he  had  spoken 
with  modest  enthusiasm  of  this  Sole  a  la  Cardinal.  .  .  . 

On  the  other  side  of  the  host  sat  Helen  Brabazon. 

Blanche  looked  at  the  late  Mrs.  Variak's  one  intimate 
friend  with  critical  interest.  Yes,  Miss  Brabazon  looked 
Somebody,  though  a  somewhat  old-fashioned  Somebody, 
considering  that  she  was  still  quite  a  young  woman.  She 
had  good  hair,  a  good  complexion,  and  clear,  honest- 
looking  hazel  eyes ;  but  not  her  kindest  friends  would  have 
called  her  pretty.  What  charm  she  had  depended  on  her 
look  of  perfect  health,  and  her  alert,  intelligent  expression 
of  face.  Miss  Farrow,  who  was  well  read,  and,  indeed, 
had  a  fine  taste  in  literature,  told  herself  suddenly  that 
Miss  Brabazon  was  rather  her  idea  of  Jane  Austen's 
Emma !  Her  dark-blue  velvet  dress,  though  it  set  off  her 
pretty  skin,  and  the  complexion  which  was  one  of  her 
best  points,  yet  was  absurdly  old,  for  a  girl.  Doubtless 


36         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Miss  Brabazon's  gown  had  been  designed  by  the  same 
dressmaker  who  had  made  her  mother's  presentation  dress 
some  thirty  years  before.  Such  dressmakers  are  a  quaint 
survival  of  the  Victorian  age,  and  to  them  old-fashioned 
people  keep  on  going  from  a  sense  of  loyalty,  or  perhaps 
because  they  are  honestly  ignorant  of  what  strides  in 
beauty  and  elegance  other  dressmakers  have  made  in  the 
last  quarter  of  a  century. 

The  hostess's  eye  travelled  slowly  round  the  table.  How 
ludicrous  the  contrast  between  Helen  Brabazon  and  Bub- 
bles Dunster!  Yet  they  were  probably  very  much  of  an 
age.  Bubbles,  who  looked  such  a  child,  must  now  be — 
yes,  not  far  from  two-and-twenty. 

Miss  Farrow  checked  a  sigh.  She  had  been  twenty-one 
herself — but  what  a  charming,  distinguished,  delightful 
twenty-one — when  she  had  formed  one  of  a  little  group 
round  the  font  of  St.  Peter's,  Eaton  Square.  She  remem- 
bered what  an  ugly  baby  she  had  thought  Bubbles,  and 
how  she  had  been  anything  but  pleased  when  someone 
present  facetiously  observed  that  god-mother  and  god- 
child had  very  much  the  same  type  of  nose  and  ears  and 
mouth ! 

To-night  Bubbles  was  wearing  an  eccentric,  and  yet 
very  becoming  garment.  To  the  uninitiated  it  might  have 
appeared  fashioned  out  of  an  old-fashioned  chintz  curtain. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  intricate  flower  pattern  with 
which  it  was  covered  had  been  copied  on  a  Lyons  loom 
from  one  of  those  eighteenth  century  embroidered  waist- 
coats which  are  rightly  prized  by  connoisseurs.  The  dress 
was  cut  daringly  low,  back  and  front,  especially  back,  and 
the  girl  wore  no  jewels.  But  through  her  "bobbed"  hair 
was  tucked  a  brilliant  little  silk  flag,  which  carried  out 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         37 

and  emphasized  the  colouring  of  the  flowers  scattered 
over  the  pale  pink  silk  of  which  its  wearer's  gown  was 
made. 

Bubbles,  in  that  staid  and  decorous  company,  looked 
as  if  she  had  wandered  in  from  some  gay  Venetian 
masquerade. 

She  was  now  sitting  between  the  millionaire,  James 
Tapster,  and  her  own  friend,  Bill  Donnington.  When 
she  had  heard  that  she  had  been  placed  next  Donnington, 
Bubbles  had  pouted.  "I'd  rather  have  had  Sir  Lyon," 
she  exclaimed,  "or  even  the  old  'un!" — for  so  she  irrev- 
erently designated  Helen  Brabazon's  uncle,  Mr.  Burnaby. 

But  Blanche  Farrow  had  been  firm.  Sir  Lyon  must  of 
course  be  on  her  own  right  hand,  Mr.  Burnaby  on  her 
left.  It  is  always  difficult  to  arrange  a  party  of  four 
ladies  and  five  men.  She  had  suggested  more  than  one 
other  pleasant  woman  to  make  up  the  party  to  ten,  but 
Varick  had  had  some  objection  to  each — the  objection 
usually  taking  the  line  that  the  person  proposed  would 
not  "get  on"  with  the  Burnabys. 

Blanche  again  wondered  why  their  host  had  been  so 
determined  to  have  Helen  Brabazon  at  his  first  house- 
party,  if  her  coming  meant  the  inclusion  of  her  tiresome 
uncle  and  aunt?  And  then  she  felt  a  little  ashamed  of 
herself.  One  of  the  best  points  about  Lionel  Varick  was 
his  sense  of  gratitude  to  anyone  who  had  done  him  a  good 
turn.  Gratitude  had  been  the  foundation  of  their  own 
now  many-year-long  friendship. 

The  food  was  so  very  good,  there  was  so  much  of  it, 
and  doubtless  those  who  had  journeyed  down  to  Wyndfell 
Hall  to-night  were  all  so  hungry,  that  there  was  rather 
less  talk  going  on  round  the  table  than  might  have  been 


3 8         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

expected.  But  now  and  again  the  hostess  caught  a  fleeting 
interchange  of  words.  She  heard,  for  instance,  old  Miss 
Burnaby  informing  young  Donnington  that  she  had  been 
a  good  deal  on  the  Continent  as  a  young  woman,  and  had 
actually  spent  a  year  in  Austria  a  matter  of  forty  years 
ago. 

As  the  meal  went  on,  Miss  Farrow  gradually  became 
aware  that  Bubbles  provided  what  life  and  soul  there 
was  in  the  dull  party.  But  for  Bubbles,  but  for  her  in- 
fectious high  spirits  and  vitality,  how  very  heavy  and  stu- 
pid the  meal  they  were  now  ending  would  have  been! 
She  asked  herself,  for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time  in  the 
last  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  why  her  friend  had  brought 
together  such  a  curious  and  ill-assorted  set  of  people. 

At  last  she  looked  across  at  Miss  Burnaby,  and  grad- 
ually everyone  got  up. 

Varick  was  at  the  door  in  a  moment,  holding  it  open, 
and,  as  they  filed  by  him,  managing  to  say  a  word  to  each 
of  the  four  ladies.  "Bravo,  Bubbles !"  Blanche  heard  him 
whisper.  "You're  earning  your  Christmas  present  right 
royally!"  and  the  girl's  eyes  flashed  up  into  her  host's 
with  a  mischievous,  not  over-friendly  glance.  Miss  Far- 
row was  aware  that  Bubbles  did  not  much  care  for  Lionel 
Varick.  She  rather  wondered  why.  But  she  was  far 
too  shrewd  not  to  know  that  there's  no  accounting  either 
for  likings  or  dislikings  where  a  man  and  a  woman  are 
concerned. 

As  she  shepherded  her  little  party  across  the  staircase 
lobby,  she  managed  to  mutter  into  her  niece's  ear:  "I 
want  you  to  take  on  Miss  Burnaby  for  me,  Bubbles — I'm 
anxious  to  make  friends  with  Helen  Brabazon." 

There  are  times  when  what  one  must  call  for  want  of  a 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP    39 

better  term  the  social  rites  of  existence  interfere  most  un- 
warrantably with  the  elemental  happenings  of  life.  But 
on  this  first  evening  at  Wyndfell  Hall  the  coming  of  cof- 
fee and  of  liqueurs  proved  a  welcome  diversion.  Miss 
Burnaby  smiled  a  pleased  smile  as  she  sipped  the  Bene- 
dictine which  a  footman  had  poured  into  a  tall  green-and- 
gold  Bohemian  liqueur-glass  for  her.  She,  at  any  rate, 
was  enjoying  her  visit.  And  so,  Blanche  Farrow  decided, 
was  the  old  lady's  niece,  for  "How  beautiful  and  perfect 
everything  is!"  exclaimed  the  girl;  and  indeed  the  room 
in  which  they  now  found  themselves  was  singularly 
charming. 

But  somehow  Miss  Farrow  felt  that  the  speaker  was 
not  alluding  so  much  to  the  room,  as  to  the  way  every- 
thing was  being  done,  and  her  heart  warmed  to  the  girl, 
for  she  was  really  anxious  that  Lionel's  first  party  should 
be  a  success. 

When  they  had  settled  themselves  in  the  lovely,  deli- 
cately austere-looking  white  parlour,  as  it  was  called, 
which  again  suggested  to  Blanche  Farrow  the  atmosphere 
of  Jane  Austen's  "Emma/'  Bubbles  dutifully  sat  herself 
down  by  Miss  Burnaby.  Soon  she  was  talking  to  that 
lady  in  a  way  which  at  once  fascinated  and  rather  fright- 
ened her  listener.  Bubbles  had  a  very  pretty  manner  to 
old  people.  It  was  caressing,  deferential,  half -humorously 
protecting.  She  liked  to  shock  and  soothe  them  by  turns ; 
and  they  generally  yielded  themselves  gladly,  after  a  little 
struggle,  both  to  the  shocking  and  to  the  soothing. 

Miss  Farrow  and  Helen  Brabazon  sat  down  at  the 
further  end  of  the  delightful,  gladsome-looking  room.  It 
was  hung  with  a  delicate,  faded  Chinese  paper;  and 
against  the  walls  stood  a  few  pieces  of  fine  white  lacquer 


40         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

furniture.  The  chairs  were  painted — some  French,  some 
Heppelwhite.  Over  the  low  mantelpiece  was  framed  a 
long,  narrow  piece  of  exquisite  embroidery. 

"I  suppose  you  have  often  stayed  here?"  began  Miss 
Farrow  civilly. 

Helen  Brabazon  looked  at  her,  surprised.  "I've  never 
been  here  before!"  she  exclaimed.  " How  could  I  have 
been?.  I've  only  known  Mr.  Varick  for,  let  me  see," — 
she  hesitated — "a  very  little  over  a  year." 

"But  you  were  a  great  friend  of  his  wife's — at  least 
sol  understood?" 

Blanche  concealed,  successfully,  her  very  real  astonish- 
ment. She  had  certainly  been  told  by  Lionel  that  Miss 
Brabazon  and  "poor  Milly"  had  been  intimate  friends; 
that  this  fact  was,  indeed,  the  only  link  between  Miss  Bra- 
bazon and  her  host. 

The  girl  now  sitting  opposite  to  her  flushed  deeply,  and 
suddenly  Blanche  Farrow  realized  that  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  character  and  feeling  in  the  open,  ingenuous 
face. 

"Yes,  that's  true.  We  became  great  friends" — a  note 
of  emotion  broke  into  the  steady,  well-modulated  voice — 
"but  our  friendship  was  not  an  old  friendship,  Miss  Far- 
row. I  only  knew  Milly — well,  I  suppose  I  knew  her 
about  ten  weeks  in  all." 

"Ten  weeks  in  all?"  This  time  Blanche  Farrow  could 
not  keep  the  surprise  she  felt  out  of  her  voice.  "What  an 
extraordinary  mistake  for  me  to  have  made!  I  thought 
you  had  been  life-long  friends." 

Helen  shook  her  head.  "What  happened  was  this.  'A! 
friend  of  mine — I  mean  a  really  old  friend — had  a  bad  ill- 
ness, and  I  took  her  down  to  Redsands — you  may  know 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         41 

it,  a  delightful  little  village  not  far  from  Walmer.  I  took 
a  house  there,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Varick  had  the  house 
next  door.  We  made  friends,  I  mean  Mr.  Varick  and 
myself,  over  the  garden  wall,  and  he  asked  me  if  I  would 
mind  coming  in  some  day  and  seeing  his  wife.  I  had  a 
great  deal  of  idle  time  on  my  hands,  so  very  soon  I  spent 
even  more  time  with  the  Varicks  than  I  did  with  my 
friend,  and  she — -I  mean  poor  Milly — became  very,  very 
fond  of  me." 

There  was  a  pause.  And  then  the  younger  woman 
went  on:  "And  if  we  knew  each  other  for  such  a  short 
time,  as  one  measures  time,  I  on  my  side  soon  got  very 
fond  of  Milly.  Though  she  was  a  good  deal  rover  thirty" 
— again  the  listener  felt  a  thrill  of  unreasoning  surprise — 
"there  was  something  very  simple  and  young  about  poor 
Milly." 

The  speaker  stopped,  and  Blanche,  leaning  forward,  ex- 
claimed: "I  am  deeply  interested  in  what  you  tell  me, 
Miss  Brabazon !  I  have  never  liked  to  say  much  to  Lionel 
about  his  wife;  but  I  have  always  so  wondered  what  she 
was  really  like?" 

"She  simply  adored  Mr.  Varick,"  Helen  answered  ea- 
gerly. "She  worshipped  him !  She  was  always  making 
plans  as  to  what  she  and  'Lionel'  would  do  when  she  got 
better.  I  myself  thought  it  very  wrong  that  all  of  them, 
including  Dr.  Panton,  entered  into  a  kind  of  conspiracy 
not  to  let  her  know  how  ill  she  was." 

"I  think  that  was  right,"  said  Blanche  Farrow  shortly. 
"Why  disturb  her  happiness — if  indeed  she  was  happy?" 

"She  was  indeed! — very,  very  happy!"  cried  Helen. 
"She  had  had  a  miserable  life  as  a  girl,  and  even  after 
she  was  grown  up.  When  she  met  Mr.  Varick,  and  they 


42         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

fell  in  love  at  first  sight,  she'd  hardly  ever  seen  a  man 
to  speak  to,  excepting  some  of  her  father's  tiresome  old 
cronies " 

"Was  she  pretty  ?"  asked  Blanche  abruptly. 

"Oh,  no," — the  other  shook  her  head  decidedly.  "Not 
at  all  pretty — in  fact  I  suppose  most  people  would  have 
called  her  very  plain.  Poor  Milly  was  sallow,  and,  when 
I  knew  her,  very  thin ;  but  I  believe  she'd  never  been  really 
strong,  never  really  healthy."  She  hesitated,  and  then 
said  in  a  low  voice :  "That  made  Mr.  Varick's  wonderful 
devotion  to  her  all  the  more  touching." 

Blanche  Farrow  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  "Yes,  in- 
deed," she  murmured  mechanically. 

Lionel  devoted  to  a  plain,  unhealthy  woman?  Some- 
how she  found  it  quite  impossible  to  believe  that  he  could 
ever  have  been  that.  And  yet  there  was  no  doubting  the 
sincerity  of  the  girl's  accents. 

"Both  Dr.  Panton  and  I  used  to  agree,"  Helen  went  on, 
"that  he  didn't  give  himself  enough  air  and  exercise.  I 
hired  a  car  for  part  of  the  time,  and  used  to  take  him  out 
for  a  good  blow,  now  and  again." 

"And  what  did  Mrs.  Varick  really  die  of?"  asked 
Blanche  Farrow. 

"Pernicious  anaemia,"  answered  Helen  promptly.  "It's 
a  curious,  little-known  disease,  from  what  I  can  make  out. 
The  doctor  told  me  he  thought  she  had  had  it  for  a  long 
time — or,  at  any  rate,  that  she  had  had  it  for  some  years 
before  she  married  Mr.  Varick." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"I  wonder  why  they  didn't  come  and  live  here?"  said 
Miss  Farrow  thoughtfully. 

"Oh,  but  she  hated  Wyndfell  Hall!     You  see,  her 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         43 

father's  whole  mind  had  been  set  on  nothing  but  this 
house,  and  making  it  as  perfect  as  possible.  It  was  in  a 
dreadful  state  when  he  inherited  it  from  an  old  cousin; 
yet  he  was  offered,  even  so,  an  enormous  sum  for  some 
of  the  wonderful  oak  ceilings.  But  he  refused  the  offer — 
indignantly,  and  he  set  himself  to  make  it  what  it  must 
have  been  hundreds  of  years  ago." 

"He  hardly  succeeded  in  doing  that,"  observed  Blanche 
Farrow  dryly.  "Our  ancestors  lived  less  comfortably 
than  we  do  now,  Miss  Brabazon.  Instead  of  beautiful 
old  Persian  carpets,  there  must  have  been  rushes  on  all 
the  floors.  And  as  for  the  furniture  of  those  days— -it 
was  probably  all  made  of  plain,  hard,  unpolished  wood." 

"Well,  at  any  rate," — the  girl' spoke  with  a  touch  of 
impatience — "Milly  hated  this  place.  She  told  me  once 
she  had  never  known  a  day's  real  happiness  till  her  mar- 
riage. That's  what  made  it  seem  so  infinitely  sad  that  it 
lasted  such  a  short  time." 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  other  slowly,  "that  they  were 
married  altogether  about  seven  months?" 

"I  fancy  rather  longer  than  that.  She  was  quite  well, 
or  so  she  thought,  when  she  married.  They  travelled 
about  for  a  while  on  the  Continent,  and  she  told  me  once 
she  enjoyed  every  minute  of  it!  And  then  her  health 
began  to  give  way,  and  they  took  this  house  at  Redsands. 
They  chose  it  because  Mr.  Varick  knew  something  of 
the  doctor  there — he  didn't  know  him  very  well,  but  they 
became  very  great  friends,  in  fact  such  friends  that  poor 
Milly  left  him  a  legacy — I  think  it  was  five  hundred 
pounds.  Dr.  Panton  was  most  awfully  good  to  her,  but 
of  course  he  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  that  she  was  leaving 
him  anything.  I  never  saw  a  man  more  surprised  than 


44         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

he  was  when  I  told  him  about  it  the  day  of  her  death. 
Mr.  Varick  asked  me  to  do  so,  and  he  was  quite  over- 


come." 


She  smiled.  Five  hundred  pounds  evidently  did  not 
seem  very  much  to  Miss  Brabazon. 

"I  suppose  she  had  a  good  deal  of  money?" 

The  late  Mrs.  Varick's  friend  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
answered  at  last,  "I  think  she  had  about  twenty  thousand 
pounds — at  least  I  know  that  that  sum  was  mentioned  in 
the  Times  list  of  wills." 

The  other  was  startled — disagreeably  startled.  She  had 
understood,  from  something  Lionel  had  said  to  her,  that 
he  now  had  five  thousand  a  year.  "This  place  must  be 
worth  a  good  deal,"  she  observed.  She  told  herself  that 
perhaps  the  late  Mrs.  Varick  had  left  twenty  thousand 
pounds  in  money,  and  that  the  bulk  of  her  income  had 
come  from  land. 

"Yes,  but  unfortunately  poor  Milly  couldn't  leave 
Wyndfell  Hall  to  Mr.  Varick.  He  only  has  a  life  in- 
terest in  it." 

Helen  Brabazon  spoke  in  a  curiously  decided  way,  as 
if  she  were  used  to  business. 

Blanche  was  again  very  much  surprised.  She  had  cer- 
tainly understood  that  this  wonderful  old  house  and 
its  very  valuable  contents  belonged  to  Lionel  Varick  ab- 
solutely. "Are  you  sure  of  that?"  she  began — and  then 
she  stopped  speaking,  for  her  quick  ears  had  detected  the 
sound  of  an  opening  and  shutting  door. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AFTER  a  few  moments  the  five  men  sorted  themselves 
among  the  ladies.  Old  Mr.  Burnaby  and  young 
Donnington  went  and  sat  by  Bubbles,  the  gloomy-looking 
James  Tapster  also  finally  sidling  uncertainly  towards  her. 
Sir  Lyon  civilly  devoted  himself  to  Miss  Burnaby;  and 
Lionel  Varick  came  over  to  where  Blanche  Farrow  was 
sitting,  and  said  something  to  her  in  a  low  voice. 

Thus  was  Helen  Brabazon  for  the  moment  left  out 
in  the  cold.  She  turned,  and  opening  a  prettily  bound 
book  which  was  on  a  table  close  to  her  elbow,  began  to 
read  it. 

Varick  looked  dubiously  at  his  silent  guest.  Leaning 
again  towards  Miss  Farrow  he  whispered:  "I  don't 
know  what  one  does  on  such  occasions,  Blanche.  Ought 
not  we  to  have  a  round  game  or  something?'* 

She  smiled  into  his  keen,  good-looking  face.  "You  are 
a  baby !  Or  are  you  only  pretending,  Lionel  ?  Everyone's 
quite  happy;  why  should  we  do  anything?" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  both  Mr.  Burnaby  and  Miss  Burn- 
aby spoke  before  dinner  as  if  they  expected  to  be  enter- 
tained in  some  way." 

"I'll  think  something  out,"  she  said  a  little  wearily. 
"Now  go  and  do  your  duty — talk  to  Miss  Brabazon !" 

She  got  up  and  moved  slowly  towards  the  fireplace,  tell- 
ing herself  the  while,  with  a  certain  irritation,  that  Lionel 
was  not  showing  his  usual  alert  intelligence.  It  was  all 

45 


46         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

very  well  to  invite  this  young  woman  who  had  been  so 
kind  to  poor  Milly;  and  the  fact  that  she  and  her  tire- 
some old  uncle  and  aunt  were,  if  Lionel  was  right,  very 
wealthy,  was  not  without  a  certain  interest.  But  still ! 

Blanche,  with  a  certain  grim,  inward  smile,  remem- 
bered a  story  she  had  thought  at  the  time  rather  funny. 
That  of  a  lady  who  had  said  to  her  husband,  "Oh,  do 
come  and  see  them,  they  are  so  very  rich."  And  he  had 
answered,  "My  dear,  I  would  if  it  were  catching!" 

Unfortunately,  Blanche  Farrow  had  only  too  much  rea- 
son to  know  that  wealth  is  not  catching.  Also,  to  one 
with  her  brilliant,  acute  mind,  there  was  something  pe- 
culiarly irritating  in  the  sight  of  very  rich  people  who 
didn't  know  how  to  use  their  wealth,  either  to  give  them- 
selves, or  others,  pleasure.  Such  people,  she  felt  sure, 
were  Mr.  and  Miss  Burnaby — and  doubtless,  also,  their 
heiress,  Helen  Brabazon. 

"Bubbles!"  she  exclaimed  imperiously,  under  her 
breath.  "Come  here  for  a  minute."  And  Bubbles,  with  a 
touch  of  reluctance,  got  up  and  left  the  three  men  to  whom 
she  was  talking. 

As  she  came  towards  her,  her  aunt  was  struck  by  the 
girl's  look  of  ill-health  and  unease. 

"I  wish  you  could  think  of  something  that  would  stir 
us  all  up,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  And  then,  in  a  lower 
voice  still,  for  her  niece  was  now  close  to  her,  "The 
Burnabys  look  the  sort  of  people  who  would  enjoy  a 
parlour  game,"  she  said  rather  crossly. 

And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  Bubbles  gave  a  queer  little 
leap  into  the  air.  "I've  got  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "Let's 
hold  a  seance!" 

"A  seance?"  repeated  Blanche  Farrow  in  a  dubious 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         47 

tone.  "I  don't  think  Miss  Burnaby  would  enjoy  that 
at  all." 

"Oh,  but  she  would!" — Bubbles  spoke  confidently. 
"Didn't  you  hear  her  at  dinner?  She  was  telling  Sir 
Lyon  about  some  friend  of  hers  who's  become  tremen- 
dously keen  about  that  sort  of  thing.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  Blanche"  (these  two  had  never  been  on  very  formal 
terms  together,  and  in  a  way  Bubbles  was  much  fonder 
of  her  aunt  than  her  aunt  was  of  her) — "T0  tell  you  the 
truth,  Blanche,"  she  repeated,  "ever  since  I  arrived  here 
I've  told  myself  that  it  would  be  rather  amusing  to  try 
something  of  the  kind.  It's  a  strange  old  house;  there's 
a  funny  kind  of  atmosphere  about  it ;  I  felt  it  the  moment 
I  arrived." 

The  other  looked  at  her  sharply.  "I've  always  avoided 
that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  don't  see  it  doing  you  much  good, 
Bubbles !  You  know  how  your  father  feels  about  it  ?" 

Miss  Farrow  did  not  often  interfere  in  other  people's 
affairs,  but  she  had  suddenly  remembered  certain  phrases 
in  her  brother-in-law's  letter. 

"Daddy  has  been  put  up  to  making  a  fuss  by  a  goody- 
goody  widow  who's  making  up  to  him  just  now."  Bub- 
bles spoke  lightly,  but  she  looked  vexed. 

Blanche  Farrow  felt  sorry  she  had  said  anything.  Bub- 
bles was  behaving  very  nicely  just  now.  It  was  the 
greatest  comfort  to  have  her  here.  So  she  said,  smiling, 
"Oh,  well,  I  shan't  regret  your  trying  something  of  the 
kind  if  you  can  galvanize  these  dull  folk  into  life." 

"I'll  do  more  than  that,"  said  Bubbles  easily.  "I'll  give 
them  creeps!  But,  Blanche?  I  want  you  to  back  me  up 
if  I  say  I'm  tired,  or  don't  want  to  go  on  with  it." 

Blanche  Farrow  felt  surprised.     "I  don't  quite  under- 


48          FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

stand/'  she  exclaimed.  "Aren't  we  going  to  do  table- 
turning?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl  deliberately.  "We're  going  to  have 
a  seance — a  sitting.  And  I'm  going  to  be  the  medium." 

"Oh,  Bubbles !  Is  that  wise?"  She  looked  uncomfort- 
ably into  the  girl's  now  eager,  flushed  face.  "D'you  think 
you  know  enough  about  these  people  to  be  a  success  at  it 
this  very  first  evening?" 

Bubbles'  gift  of  thought-reading  would  of  course  come 
in;  also  the  girl  was  a  clever  actress;  still,  that  surely 
wouldn't  take  her  very  far  with  a  set  of  people  of  whom 
she  knew  nothing. 

"The  only  one  I'm  afraid  of,"  said  Bubbles  thought- 
fully, "is  Mr.  Burnaby.  He's  such  a  proper  old  thing! 
He  might  really  object — object  on  the  same  ground  as 
Daddy's  tiresome  widow  does.  However,  I  can  but  try." 

She  pirouetted  round,  and  quickly  drew  with  her  foot 
a  gilt  footstool  from  under  an  Empire  settee.  She  stood 
upon  it  and  clapped  her  hands.  "Ladies  and  gentlemen !" 
she  cried.  "This  is  a  time  of  year  when  ghosts  are  said 
to  walk.  Why  shouldn't  we  hold  a  seance,  here  and  now, 
and  call  up  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep?" 

"But  will  they  come?"  quoted  Sir  Lyon,  smiling  up 
into  her  eager,  sensitive  little  face. 

Sir  Lyon  was  quite  enjoying  Lionel  Varick's  Christmas 
house-party.  For  one  thing,  he  was  interested  in  his 
host's  personality.  In  a  small  way  he  had  long  made  a 
study  of  Lionel  Varick,  and  it  amused  him  to  see  Varick 
in  a  new  role — that  of  a  prosperous  country  gentleman. 

Suddenly  Bubbles  found  an  ally  in  a  most  unexpected 
quarter.  Helen  Brabazon  called  out :  "I've  always  longed 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         49 

to  attend  a  seance !  I  did  once  go  to  a  fortune-teller,  and 
it  was  thrilling ." 

Bubbles  stepped  down  off  her  footstool.  She  had  the 
gift — which  her  aunt  also  possessed — of  allowing  another 
to  take  the  field. 

"If  it  was  so  exciting,"  said  Lionel  Varick  dryly,  "I 
wonder  that  you  only  went  once,  Miss  Brabazon." 

Helen's  face  grew  grave.  "I'll  tell  you  about  it  some 
day,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice ;  "as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
just  before  you  and  I  first  met." 

"Yes,"  said  Varick  lightly.  "And  what  happened? 
Do  tell  me!" 

Helen  turned  to  him,  and  her  voice  dropped  to  a  whis- 
per. "She  described  Milly — I  mean  the  fortune-teller 
described  Milly,  almost  exactly.  She  told  me  that  Milly 
was  going  to  play  a  great  part  in  my  life." 

And  then  she  felt  sharply  sorry  she  had  said  as  much 
or  as  little  as  she  had  said,  for  her  host's  face  altered; 
it  became,  from  a  healthy  pallor,  a  deep  red. 

"Forgive  me!"  she  exclaimed.  "Forgive  me!  I 
oughtn't  to  have  told  you " 

"Don't  say  that.    You  can  tell  me  anything !" 

Blanche  Farrow,  who  had  now  moved  forward  to  the 
fireplace,  would  again  have  been  very  much  surprised 
had  she  heard  the  intense,  intimate  tone  in  which  Lionel 
Varick  uttered  those  few  words  to  his  late  wife's  friend. 

Helen  blushed — a  deep,  sudden  blush — and  Sir  Lyon, 
looking  at  her  across  the  room,  told  himself  that  she  was 
a  remarkable-looking  girl,  and  that  he  would  like  to  make 
friends  with  her.  He  liked  the  earnest,  old-fashioned  type 
of  girl — but  fate  rarely  threw  him  into  the  company  of 
such  a  one. 


50         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"It  is  quite  unnecessary  for  any  of  you  to  move,'*  ob- 
served Bubbles  in  a  business-like  tone ;  "but  we  are  likely 
to  obtain  much  better  results  if  we  blow  out  the  candles. 
The  firelight  will  be  quite  enough." 

And  then,  to  everyone's  surprise,  Miss  Burnaby  spoke. 
Her  voice  was  gentle  and  fretful.  "I  thought  that  there 
always  had  to  be  a  medium  at  a  seance,"  she  observed; 
"when  I  went  with  a  friend  of  mine  to  what  she  called  a 
Circle,  there  was  a  medium  there,  and  we  each  paid  her 
half-a-crown." 

"Of  course  there  must  be  a  medium,"  said  Bubbles 
quickly.  "And  /  am  going  to  be  the  medium  thi-s  time, 
Miss  Burnaby;  but  it  will  be  all  free  and  for  nothing — I 
always  do  it  for  love !" 

Varick  looked  at  his  young  guest  with  a  good  deal  of 
gratitude.  He  had  never  numbered  himself  among  the 
girl's  admirers.  To  him  Bubbles  was  like  a  caricature  of 
her  aunt.  But  now  he  told  himself  that  there  was  some- 
thing to  say,  after  all,  for  this  queer  younger  generation 
who  dare  everything!  He  supposed  that  Bubbles  was 
going  to  entertain  them  with,  a  clever  exhibition  of  bril- 
liant acting.  Lionel  Varick  was  no  mean  actor  himself, 
and  it  was  as  connoisseur,  as  well  as  expert,  that  he  ad- 
mired the  gift  when  it  was  practised  by  others. 

Spiritualism,  table-turning,  and  fortune-telling — he 
bracketed  them  all  together  in  his  own  mind — had  never 
interested  him  in  the  least.  But  he  realized  dimly  what  a 
wonderful  chance  this  new  fashionable  craze — for  so  he 
regarded  it — gives  to  the  charlatan.  He  had  always  felt 
an  attraction  to  that  extraordinary  eighteenth  century  ad- 
venturer, Cagliostro,  and  to-night  he  suddenly  remem- 
bered a  certain  passage  in  Casanova's  memoirs. ...  He  felt 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         51 

rather  sorry  that  they  hadn't  planned  out  this — this  seance, 
before  the  rest  of  the  party  had  arrived.  He  could  have 
given  Bubbles  a  few  "tips"  which  would  have  made  her 
task  easy,  and  the  coming  seance  much  more  thrilling. 

The  company  ranged  themselves  four  on  each  side. 

Miss  Burnaby  sat  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  her 
brother  on  the  other.  Next  to  the  old  lady  was  Sir 
Lyon;  then  Helen  Brabazon;  last  their  host. 

On  the  opposite  side,  next  to  Mr.  Burnaby,  sat  the 
fat-visaged  James  Tapster;  by  him  was  Blanche  Far- 
row, looking  on  the  proceedings  with  a  certain  cynical 
amusement  and  interest,  and  next  to  Blanche,  and  nearest 
to  where  Bubbles  had  now  established  herself  on  one  of 
those  low  chairs  which  in  England  is  called  a  nursery 
chair,  and  in  France  a  prie-dieu,  was  young  Donnington. 
He,  alone  of  the  people  there,  looked  uncomfortable 
and  disapproving. 

After  they  had  all  been  seated,  waiting  they  hardly 
knew  for  what,  for  a  few  moments,  Bubbles  leapt  from 
her  low  chair  and  blew  out  all  the  candles,  a  somewhat 
lengthy  task,  and  one  which  plunged  the  room  into  almost 
darkness.  But  she  threw  a  big  log  of  wood  on  the  fire, 
and  the  flames  shot  up,  filling  the  room  with  shafts  of 
rosy,  fitful  light. 

There  was  a  pause.  Varick  said  something  in  a  rather 
cheerful,  matter-of-fact  voice  to  Miss  Brabazon,  and 
Bubbles  turned  round  sharply :  "I'm  afraid  we  ought  to 
have  complete  silence — even  silence  of  thought,"  she  said 
solemnly. 

Blanche  Farrow  looked  at  the  girl.  What  queer  jar- 
gon was  this?  In  the  wavering  light  thrown  by  the  fire 
Bubbles'  face  looked  tense  and  rather  strained. 


52         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Was  it  possible,  Blanche  asked  herself  with  a  touch 
of  uneasiness,  that  the  child  was  taking  this  seriously — 
that  she  believed  in  it  at  all  ?  Her  father  thought  so,  but 
then  Hugh  Dunster  was  such  an  old  fool ! 

The  moments  ran  by.  One  or  two  of  the  chairs  creaked. 
James  Tapster  yawned,  and  he  put  up  his  hand  rather  un- 
willingly to  hide  his  yawn.  He  thought  all  this  sort  of 
thing  very  stupid,  and  so  absolutely  unnecessary.  He  had 
enjoyed  listening  to  Miss  Bubbles'  cheerful,  inconsequent 
chatter.  It  irritated  him  that  she  should  have  been  dragged 
away  from  him — for  so  he  put  it  to  himself — by  that 
unpleasant,  supercilious  woman,  Blanche  Farrow.  It  was 
a  pity  that  a  nice  girl  like  Miss  Bubbles  had  such  an  aunt. 
Only  the  other  day  he  had  heard  a  queer  story  about  Miss 
Farrow.  The  story  ran  that  she  had  once  been  caught  in 
a  gambling  raid,  and  her  name  kept  out  of  the  papers 
by  the  influence  of  a  man  in  the  Home  Office  who  had 
been  in  love  with  her  at  the  time. 

And  then  he  looked  up,  startled  for  once — for  strange, 
untoward  sounds  were  issuing  from  the  lips  of  Bubbles 
Dunster.  The  girl  was  leaning  forward,  her  elbows  on 
her  knees,  crouched  upon  the  low  chair,  her  slight,  sinu- 
ous little  figure  bathed  in  red  light.  She  was  groaning, 
rocking  herself  backwards  and  forwards  convulsively. 

To  most  of  those  present  it  was  a  strange,  painful  ex- 
hibition— painful,  yet  certainly  thrilling! 

Suddenly  she  began  to  speak,  and  the  words  poured 
from  her  lips  with  a  kind  of  breathless  quickness.  But 
the  strange,  uncanny,  startling  thing  about  it  was  that  the 
voice  which  uttered  these  staccato  sentences  was  not 
Bubbles'  well-modulated,  drawling  voice.  It  was  the  high, 
peevish  voice  of  a  child — a  child  speaking  queer,  broken 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         53 

English.  Everyone  present,  even  including  Varick  and 
Blanche  Farrow,  who  both  believed  it  to  be  a  clever  and 
impudent  piece  of  impersonation,  was  startled  and  taken 
aback  by  the  extraordinary  phenomena  the  girl  now  pre- 
sented. Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  yet  her  head  was 
thrust  forward  as  if  she  was  staring  at  the  big,  now  roar- 
ing, wood  fire  before  her. 

Rushing  out  through  her  scarcely  open  lips,  came  the 
sing-song  words:  "Why  bring  Laughing  Water  here? 
Laughing  Water  frightened.  Laughing  Water  want  to 
go  away.  Laughing  Water  hates  this  house.  Please, 
Miss  Bubbles,  let  Laughing  Water  go  away!"  And 
Bubbles — if  it  was  Bubbles — twisted  and  turned  and 
groaned,  as  if  in  agony. 

And  then,  to  the  amazement  of  all  those  who  were  there, 
young  Donnington,  his  face  set  in  grim  lines,  suddenly 
addressed  Bubbles,  or  the  little  pleading  creature  that 
appeared  to  possess  the  girl:  "Don't  be  frightened,"  he 
said  soothingly.  "No  one's  going  to  hurt  Laughing 
Water.  Everyone  in  this  room  is  good  and  kind." 

In  answer,  there  broke  from  Bubbles'  lips  a  loud  cry : 
"No,  no,  no!  Bad  people — cruel  people — here!  Bad 
spirits,  too.  Bad  chair.  Laughing  Water  sitting  on  tor- 
ture chair!  Miss  Bubbles  change  chair.  Then  Laugh- 
ing Water  feel  better." 

Bubbles  got  up  as  an  automaton  might  have  got  up,  and 
Donnington,  pushing  forward  one  of  the  painted  chairs, 
drew  the  low,  tapestry-covered  prie-dieu  from  under  her. 

She  gave  a  deep,  deep  sigh  as  she  sat  down  again. 
Then  she  turned  herself  and  the  chair  round  till  she  was 
exactly  facing  Varick.  In  a  voice  which  had  suddenly 
become  much  more  her  own  voice  she  addressed  him, 


54         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

speaking  slowly,  earnestly :  "I  see  a  lady  standing  behind 
you.  She  is  very  stern-looking.  She  has  a  pale,  worn 
face,  and  dark  blue  eyes.  They  are  very  like  your  eyes. 
Her  hair  is  parted  in  the  middle ;  it  is  slightly  grey.  She 
must  have  passed  over  about  fifteen  to  twenty  years  ago. 
I  think  it  is  your  mother.  She  wants  to,  she  wants 
to "  Bubbles  hesitated,  and  then,  speaking  now  en- 
tirely in  her  own  voice,  she  exclaimed  with  a  kind  of 
gasp — "to  warn  you  of  danger." 

Varick  opened  his  lips,  and  then  he  closed  them.  He 
felt  shaken  with  an  over-mastering  emotion,  as  well  as  irb- 
tense  surprise,  and,  yes,  of  fierce  anger  with  the  girl 
for  daring  to  do  this — to  him. 

But  Bubbles  began  again,  staring  as  if  at  something 
beyond  and  behind  him.  "Now  there's  another  figure, 
standing  to  your  left.  She  is  still  near  the  earth  plane. 
I  cannot  place  her  at  all.  She  is  short  and  stout ;  her  grey 
hair  is  brushed,  back  from  her  forehead.  I  do  not  feel 
as  if  you  had  known  her  very  long." 

Her  voice  died  away,  then  suddenly  became  stronger, 
more  confident :  "Your  mother — if  it  is  your  mother — is 
trying  to  shield  you  from  her." 

She  remained  silent  for  a  while.  She  seemed  to  be 
listening.  Then  she  spoke  again:  "I  get  a  word — what 
is  it? — not  Ardour f  Aboard?  No,  I  think  it's  Arbour!" 

She  gazed  anxiously  into  Varick's  pale,  set  face.  "She 
says,  'Remember  the  Arbour.9  D'you  follow  me?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  a  certain  urgency,  and 
Bubbles'  host  nodded,  imperceptibly. 

Then  she  left  him,  dragging  her  chair  along  till  she  was 
just  opposite  Helen  Brabazon. 

"I  see  a  man  standing  behind  you,"  she  began;  "he  is 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         55 

dressed  in  rather  curious,  old-fashioned  cricketing 
clothes." 

A  look  of  amazement  and  understanding  passed  over 
Helen's  face. 

Bubbles  went  on,  confidently:  "He  is  a  tall,  well-set- 
up man.  He  has  light  brown  hair  and  grey  eyes.  He  is 
smiling.  I  think  it  is  your  father.  Now  he  looks  grave. 
He  is  uneasy  about  you.  He  is  sorry  you  came  here,  to 
Wyndfell  Hall.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

But  Helen  shook  her  head.  She  felt  bewildered  and 
oppressed.  "I  wonder,"  she  said  f  alter  ingly,  "if  he  could 
give  me  a  sign?  I  do  so  long  to  know  if  it  is  really 
my  dear,  dear  father." 

Blanche  Farrow  turned  a  little  hot.  It  was  too  had 
of  Bubbles  to  do  the  thing  in  this  way! 

"He  says — he  says — I  hear  him  say  a  word — "  Bub- 
bles stopped  and  knit  her  brows.  "  'Girl,  girl' — no,  it 
isn't  'girl' " 

"Girlie?"  murmured  Helen  under  her  breath. 

"Yes,  that's  it!    'Girlie'— he  says  'girlie.'  " 

Helen  Brabazon  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  She 
was  deeply  moved.  What  wonderful  thing  was  this  ?  She 
told  herself  that  never,  never  would  she  allow  herself  to 
speak  lightly  or  slightingly  of  spiritualism  again!  As  far 
as  she  knew,  no  one  in  that  room,  not  even  her  uncle  or 
aunt,  was  aware  that  "girlie"  had  been  her  long  dead 
father's  pet  name  for  his  only  child. 

And  then,  quite  suddenly,  Bubbles'  voice  broke  into  a 
kind  of  cry.  "Take  care!"  she  said.  "Take  care!  I  see 
another  form.  It  has  taken  the  place  of  your  father.  I 
think  it  is  the  form  of  a  woman  who  has  passed  over,  and 
who  loved  you  once,  but  wrhose  heart  is  now  full  of 


56         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

hatred.  D 'you  follow  me?  Qjuick!  quick!  She's  fading 
away !" 

Helen  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said  in  a  dull  voice, 
"I  don't  follow  you  at  all." 

She  felt  acutely,  unreasonably  disappointed.  There  was 
no  one  in  the  world  who  had  first  loved  and  then  hated 
her,  or  who  could  hate  her.  She  cast  her  mind  back  to 
some  of  her  schoolfellows ;  but  no,  as  far  as  she  knew  they 
were  all  still  alive,  and  there  was  not  one  of  them  to 
whom  these  exaggerated  terms  of  love  and  hatred  could 
be  applied. 

Bubbles  dragged  her  chair  on  till  she  was  just  opposite 
Sir  Lyon  Dilsford. 

He  put  up  his  hand:  "Will  you  kindly  pass  me  by, 
Laughing  Water?"  he  said,  in  his  full,  pleasant  voice. 
"I'm  an  adept,  and  I  don't  care  for  open  Circles.  If  you 
don't  mind,  will 'you  pass  on?" 

And  Bubbles  dragged  on  her  chair  again  over  the  Au- 
busson  carpet. 

She  was  now  opposite  Miss  Burnaby,  and  the  old  lady 
was  looking  at  her  with  an  air  of  fear  and  curiosity 
which  strangely  altered  her  round,  usually  placid  face. 

"I  see  a  tall  young  man  standing  behind  you,"  began 
Bubbles  in  a  monotonous  voice.  "He  has  such  a  funny- 
looking  long  coat  on;  a  queer-shaped  cap,  too.  Why, 
he's  dripping  with  water!" 

And  then,  almost  as  if  in  spite  of  herself,  Miss  Burnaby 
muttered :  "Our  brother  John,  who  was  drowned." 

"He  wants  me  to  tell  you  that  he's  very  happy,  and 
that  he  sends  you  your  father's  and  mother's  love." 

Bubbles  waited  for  what  seemed  quite  a  long  time, 
then  she  went  on  again:  "I  see  another  man.  He  is  a 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         57 

very  good-looking  man.  Ke  has  a  high  forehead,  blue 
eyes,  and  a  golden  mustache.  He  is  in  uniform.  Is  it 
an  English  uniform?"  + 

Miss  Burnaby  shook  her  head. 

"I  think  it's  an  Austrian  uniform,"  said  Bubbles  hesi- 
tatingly; then  she  continued,  in  that  voice  which  was 
hers  and  yet  not  hers,  for  it  seemed  instinct  with  another 
mind :  "He  says,  'My  love !  My  love,  why  did  you  lack 
courage?' ' 

The  old  lady  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "Stop ! 
Please  stop,"  she  said  pitifully. 

Bubbles  dragged  her  chair  across  the  front  of  the  fire 
till  she  was  exactly  opposite  Mr.  Burnaby. 

For  a  few  moments  nothing  happened.  The  fire  had 
died  down.  There  was  only  a  flicker  of  light  in  the 
room.  Then  all  at  once  the  girl  gave  a  convulsive  shudder. 
"I  can't  help  it/'  she  muttered  in  a  frightened  tone. 
"Someone's  coming  through!" 

All  the  colour  went  out  of  the  healthy  old  man's  face.: 
"Eh,  what?"  he  exclaimed  uneasily. 

Like  Mr.  Tapster,  he  had  thought  all  this  tomfoolery, 
but  while  Bubbles  had  been  speaking  to,  or  at,  his  sister,  he 
had  felt  amazed,  as  well  as  acutely  uncomfortable. 

And  then  there  burst  from  Bubbles'  lips  words  uttered 
in  a  broken,  lamenting  voice — a  young,  uncultivated 
woman's  voice:  "I  did  forgive  you — for  sure.  But  oh, 
how  I've  longed  to  come  through  to  you  all  these  years ! 
You  was  cruel,  cruel  to  me,  Ted — and  I  was  kind  to  you." 

Then  followed  a  very  odd,  untoward  thing.  Mr.  Bur- 
naby jumped  up  from  his  chair,  and  he  bolted — literally 
bolted — from  the  room,  slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

Bubbles  gave  a  long,  long  sigh,  and  then  she  said  feebly : 


58          FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"I'm  tired.  I  can't  go  on  any  longer  now."  She  spoke 
in  her  natural  voice,  but  all  the  lilt  and  confidence  were 
as  if  drained  out  of  it. 

Someone — perhaps  it  was  Donnington,  who  had  got  up 
• — began  re-lighting  the  candles. 

No  one  spoke  for  what  seemed  a  long  time.  And  then, 
to  the  infinite  relief  of  Varick  and  Miss  Farrow,  the 
door  opened,  and  the  butler  appeared,  followed  by  the 
footmen.  They  were  bringing  in  various  kinds  of  drinks. 

The  host  poured  out  and  mixed  a  rather  stiff  brandy 
and  soda,  and  took  it  over  to  Miss  Burnaby.  "Do  drink 
this,"  he  said  solicitously.  "And  forgive  me,  Miss  Burna- 
by— I'm  afraid  I  was  wrong  to  allow  this — this — "  he 
did  not  know  quite  what  to  say,  so  he  ended  lamely,  "this 
seance  to  take  place." 

Then  he  poured  out  another  stiff  brandy  and  plain 
water  and  drank  it  himself. 

Donnington  turned  to  Miss  Farrow.  "I  have  never 
known  Bubbles  so — so  wonderful!"  he  exclaimed  in  a 
low  voice.  "There  must  be  something  in  the  atmosphere 
of  this  place  which  made  it  easier  than  usual." 

Blanche  Farrow  looked  at  him  searchingly.  "Surely 
you  don't  believe  in  it?"  she  whispered  incredulously. 
"Of  course  it  was  a  mixture  of  thought-reading  and  Bub- 
bles' usual  quickness !" 

"I  don't  agree  with  you — I  wish  I  could."  The  young 
man  looked  very  pale  in  the  now  bright  light.  "I  thor- 
oughly disapprove  of  it  all,  Miss  Farrow.  I  wish  to 
God  I  could  stop  Bubbles  going  in  for  it !" 

"I  agree  with  you  that  it's  very  bad  for  her." 

The  girl  had  gone  away,  right  out  of  the  circle.     She 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         59 

was  sitting  on  a  chair  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room ;  her 
head,  bent  over  a  table,  rested  on  her  arms. 

' 'She'll  be  worn  out — good  for  nothing  to-morrow," 
went  on  Donnington  crossly.  "She'll  have  an  awful  night 
too.  I  might  have  thought  she'd  be  up  to  something  of 
the  sort !  One  of  the  servants  told  her  to-night  that  this 
house  is  haunted.  She'll  be  trying  all  sorts  of  experiments 
if  we  can't  manage  to  stop  her.  It's  the  only  thing  Bub- 
bles really  lives  for  now,  Miss  Farrow." 

"I'm  afraid  it  is," — Blanche  felt  really  concerned. 
What  had  just  taken  place  was  utterly  unlike  anything 
she  had  ever  imagined.  And  yet — and  yet  it  didn't 
amount  to  very  much,  after  all!  The  most  extraordi- 
nary thing  which  had  happened,  to  her  mind,  was  what 
had  been  told  to  old  Miss  Burnaby. 

And  then  all  at  once  she  remembered — and  smiled  an 
inward,  derisive  little  smile.  Why,  of  course!  She  had 
overheard  Miss  Burnaby  tell  her  neighbour  at  dinner 
that  as  a  girl  she  had  stayed  a  winter  in  Austria.  How 
quick,  how  clever  Bubbles  had  been — how  daring,  too! 
Still,  deep  in  her  heart,  she  was  glad  that  her  niece  had 
not  had  time  to  come  round  to  where  she,  herself,  had 
been  sitting.  Bubbles  knew  a  good  deal  about  her  Aunt 
Blanche,  and  it  certainly  would  not  have  been  very  pleas- 
ant had  the  child  made  use  of  her  knowledge — even  to  a 
slight  degree  ....  Miss  Farrow  went  up  to  the  table 
on  which  now  stood  a  large  lacquer  tray,  and  poured 
herself  out  a  glass  of  cold  water.  She  was  an  abstemious 
woman. 

"I  think  some  of  us  ought  to  go  up  to  bed  now,"  she 
said,  turning  round.  "It  isn't  late  yet,  but  I'm  sure  we're 
all  tired.  And  we've  had  rather  an  exciting  evening." 


60         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  hand-shaking,  and  a  little 
talk  of  plans  for  the  morrow.  Bubbles  had  come  over, 
and  joined  the  others,  but  she  was  still  curiously  ab- 
stracted. 

"Where's  Mr.  Burnaby  ?"  she  asked  suddenly.  "Wasn't 
he  at  the  seance?" 

"He's  gone  to  bed/'  said  his  sister  shortly. 

Her  host  was  handing  the  old  lady  a  bedroom  candle, 
and  she  was  looking  up  at  him  with  a  kind  of  appeal 
in  her  now  troubled  and  bewildered  face. 

"I  feel  I  owe  you  an  apology,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"Bubbles  Dunster  has  always  possessed  extraordinary 
powers  of  thought-reading.  I  remember  hearing  that 
years  ago,  when  she  was  a  child.  But  of  course  I  had 
no  idea  she  had  developed  the  gift  to  the  extent  she  now 
has — or  I  should  have  forbidden  her  to  exercise  it  to- 
night." 

After  the  three  other  women  had  all  gone  upstairs, 
Blanche  Farrow  lingered  a  moment  at  the  bottom  of  the 
staircase ;  and  Varick,  having  shepherded  Sir  Lyon,  young 
Donnington,  and  James  Tapster  into  the  hall,  joined  her 
for  a  few  moments. 

"Bubbles  is  an  extraordinary  young  creature,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  "I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  within  the 
power  of  any  human  being  to  impress  me  as  she  impressed 
me  to-night.  What  a  singular  gift  the  girl  has!" 

Somehow  Blanche  felt  irritated.  "She  has  a  remark- 
able memory,"  she  said  dryly.  "And  also  the  devil's  own 
impudence,  Lionel."  And  then  she  told  him  of  the  few 
words  she  had  overheard  at  dinner  of  the  winter  Miss 
Burnaby  had  spent  in  Austria  a  matter  of  forty  years  ago. 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  well !    But  it  doesn't  account  for 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         61 

her  absolutely  correct  description  of  my  mother,  or — 
or " 

"Yes?"  said  his  companion  sharply. 

"Well — of  her  mention  of  the  word  'arbour/  Tfie 
last  time  I  saw  my  mother  alive  was  in  the  arbour  of  our 
horrible  little  garden  at  Bedford." 

"That,"  said  Blanche  thoughtfully,  "was,  I  admit,  pure 
thought-reading.  Good-night,  Lionel." 

Varick  remained  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase 
for  quite  a  long  while. 

Yes,  it  had  been  thought-reading,  of  course.  But  very 
remarkable,  even  so.  It  was  years  since  he  had  thought 
of  that  last  painful  talk  with  his  mother.  She  had 
warned  him  very  seriously  of  certain — well,  peculiarities 
of  his  character.  The  long- forgotten  words  she  had  used 
suddenly  leapt  into  his  mind  as  if  written  in  letters  of 
fire :  "Your  father's  unscrupulousness,  matched  with  my 
courage,  make  a  dangerous  combination,  my  boy." 

As  he  lit  a  cigarette,  his  hand  shook  a  little,  but  the 
more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  he  told  himself  that  for 
all  that  had  occurred  with  relation  to  himself  to-night 
there  was  an  absolutely  natural  explanation. 

Take  the  second  figure  Bubbles  had  described  ?  It  was 
obviously  that  of  the  woman  on  whom  he  had  allowed 
his  mind  to  dwell  uneasily,  intensely,  this  afternoon.  She 
was  his  only  enemy — if  you  could  call  the  crazy  creature 
who  had  been  poor  Milly's  companion  an  enemy. 

The  odious  personality  of  the  absurdly  named  Julia  Pig- 
chalke  was  still  very  present  to  him  as  he  turned  and  joined 
his  men  guests  in  the  beautiful  camber-roofed  and  linen- 
panelled  room  known  as  the  hall.  She  was  the  one  fly,  al- 
beit a  very  small  fly,  in  the  ointment  of  his  deep  content. 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  was  a  good  deal  more  than  an  hour  later — in  fact 
nearer  twelve  than  eleven  o'clock — when  young  Don- 
nington  got  up  from  the  comfortable  chair  where  he  had 
been  ensconced,  and  put  down  the  book  which  he  had 
been  reading. 

All  the  other  men  of  the  party,  with  the  exception  of 
old  Mr.  Burnaby — who  had  gone  to  bed  for  good  after 
his  dramatic  bolt  from  the  drawing-room — had  disap- 
peared some  time  ago.  But  Donnington  had  stayed  on 
downstairs,  absorbed  in  a  curious,  privately  printed  book 
containing  the  history  of  Wyndfell  Hall. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  fell  on  the  following  passage : 

"Every  piece  of  the  furniture  in  'the  White  Parlour/ 
as  it  is  still  called,  is  of  historic  value  and  interest.  To 
take  but  one  example.  A  low,  high-backed  chair,  covered 
with  petit  point  embroidery,  is  believed  to  have  been  the 
prie-dieu  on  which  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe  knelt  during 
the  whole  of  the  night  preceding  her  terrible  death.  In 
a  document  which  was  sold  with  the  chair  in  1830,  her 
servant — who,  it  appears,  had  smuggled  the  chair  into 
the  prison — recounts  the  curious  fact  that  the  poor  Prin- 
cess had  a  prevision  that  she  was  to  be  torn  in  pieces. 
She  spent  the  last  night  praying  for  strength  to  bear 
the  awful  ordeal  she  knew  lay  before  her." 

62 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         63 

Donnington  shut  the  book.  "That's  strange !"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself  as  he  got  up. 

After  putting  the  book  back  in  the  bookcase  where  he 
had  found  it,  he  stood  and  looked  round  the  splendid 
apartment  with  a  mixture  of  interest  and  delighted  at- 
tention. 

Yes,  this  wonderful  old  "post  and  panel"  dwelling  was 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  many  beautiful  old  country 
houses  with  which  he  had  made  acquaintance  in  the  last 
two  or  three  years;  and  it  was  awfully  good  of  Bubbles 
to  have  got  him  asked  here!  Even  if  she  hadn't  actually 
suggested  he  should  come,  he  knew  that  of  course  he 
owed  his  being  here  to  her. 

The  queer,  enigmatic,  clever  girl  had  the  whole  of 
Donnington's  steadfast  heart.  Since  he  had  first  met 
Bubbles — only  some  eighteen  months  ago,  but  it  now 
seemed  an  eternity — all  life  had  been  different. 

At  first  she  had  at  once  repelled,  attracted,  and  shocked 
him.  He  had  been  much  taken  aback  when  she  had  first 
proposed  coming  to  see  him,  unchaperoned,  in  the  modest 
rooms  he  occupied  in  Gray's  Inn.  Then,  after  she  had 
twice  invited  herself  to  tea,  her  constant  comings  seemed 
quite  natural.  Sometimes  she  would  be  accompanied  by 
a  friend,  either  another  girl  or  a  man,  and  they  would 
form  a  merry,  happy  little  party  of  three  or  four.  But 
of  course  he  was  far,  far  happiest  when  she  came  alone. 
Almost  from  the  first  moment  there  had  been  a  kind 
of  instinctive  intimacy  between  them,  and  very  soon  she 
had  learnt  to  rely  on  him — even  to  take  his  advice  about 
little  things — and  to  come  to  him  with  all  her  troubles. 

Bubbles  Dunster  had  already  been  what  Donnington  in 
his  own  mind  called  "deeply  bitten"  with  spiritualism 


64         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

before  they  had  met;  yet  he  had  known  her  for  some 
considerable  time  before  she  had  allowed  him  to  know 
it.  Even  now  she  tried,  ineffectually,  to  keep  him  out- 
side all  that  concerned  that  part  of  her  life.  But,  as 
he  once  had  told  her  with  more  emotion  than  he  gen- 
erally betrayed,  he  would  have  followed  her  down  to 
hell  itself. 

There  came  a  cloud  over  his  honest  face  as  he  thought 
of  what  had  happened  this  very  evening.  And  yet, 
and  yet  he  had  to  admit  that  even  now  he  could  never 
make  up  his  mind — he  never  knew,  that  is,  how  far  what 
took  place  was  due  to  a  supernatural  agency,  or  how 
much  to  Bubbles'  uncanny  quickness  and  cleverness. 

What  was  more  strange,  considering  how  well  he  knew 
her,  Donnington  did  not  really  know  how  much  she 
herself  believed  in  it  all.  As  a  rule — probably  because 
she  knew  how  anxious  and  troubled  he  felt  about  the 
matter — Bubbles  would  very  seldom  discuss  with  him 
any  of  the  strange  happenings  in  which  she  was  so  ab- 
sorbed. And  yet,  now  and 'again,  almost  as  if  in  spite 
of  herself,  she  would  ask  him  if  he  would  care  to  come 
to  a  seance,  or  invite  him  to  witness  an  exceptionally 
remarkable  manifestation  at  some  psychic  friend's  house. 

It  had  early  become  impossible  for  him,  apart  from 
everything  else,  to  accept  the  easy  "all  rot"  theory,  for 
Bubbles'  occult  gifts  were  really  very  remarkable  and 
striking.  They  had  become  known  to  the  now  large 
circle  of  intelligent  people  who  make  a  study  of  psychic 
phenomena,  and  among  them,  just  because  she  was  an 
"amateur,"  she  was  much  in  request. 

But  it  had  never  occurred  to  him,  from  what  he  had 
been  told  of  the  party  now  gathered  together,  that  there 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         65, 

would  be  the  slightest  attempt  at  the  sort  of  thing  which 
had  happened  to-night.  He  felt  sharpy  irritated  with 
Miss  Farrow,  whom  he  had  never  liked,  and  also  with 
Lionel  Varick.  He  knew  that  Bubbles'  father  had  written 
to  her  aunt;  he  had  himself  advised  it,  knowing,  with 
that  shrewd,  rather  pathetic  instinct  which  love  gives  to 
some  natures,  that  Bubbles  thought  a  great  deal  of  her 
aunt — far  more,  indeed,  than  her  aunt  did  of  her.  He 
told  himself  that  he  would  speak  to  Miss  Farrow  to- 
morrow— have  it  out  with  her. 

Rather  slowly  and  deliberately,  for  he  was  a  rather 
slow  and  deliberate  young  man,  he  put  out  the  lights  of 
the  three  seven-branched  candlesticks  which  illumined  the 
beautiful  old  room;  and,  as  he  moved  about,  he  suddenly 
became  aware  that  nearly  opposite  the  door  giving  into 
the  staircase  lobby  was  a  finely-carved,  oak,  confessional- 
box.  What  an  odd,  incongruous  ornament  to  have  in  a 
living-room ! 

The  last  bedroom  candlestick  had  gone,  and  tempo- 
rarily blinded  by  the  sudden  darkness,  he  groped  his  way 
up  the  broad,  shallow  stairs  to  the  corridor  which  he  knew 
ultimately  led  to  his  room. 

He  was  setting  his  feet  cautiously  one  before  the  other 
on  the  landing,  his  eyes  by  now  accustomed  to  the  grey 
dimness  of  a  winter  night,  for  the  great  window  above  the 
staircase  was  uncurtained,  when  Something  suddenly 
loomed  up  before  him,  and  he  felt  his  right  arm  gripped. 

He  gave  a  stifled  cry.  And  then,  all  at  once,  he  knew 
that  it  was  Bubbles— only  Bubbles!  He  felt  her  dear 
nearness  rushing,  as  it  were,  all  over  him.  It  was  all 
he  could  do  to  prevent  himself  from  taking  her  in  his 
arms. 


66         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"Bill?  That  is  you,  isn't  it?"  she  asked  in  a  low  whisper. 
"I'm  so  frightened — so  frightened!  I  should  have  come 
down  long  ago — but  I  thought  some  of  the  others  were 
still  there.  Oh !  I  wish  I'd  come  down !  I've  been  wait- 
ing up  here  so  long — and  oh,  Bill,  I'm  very  cold !"  She 
was  pressing  up  close  to  him,  and  he  put  his  arm  round 
her — in  a  protecting,  impersonal  way. 

"I  wish  we  could  go  and  sit  down  somewhere,"  she 
went  on  plaintively.  "It's  horrible  talking  out  here,  on 
the  landing.  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do,  Bill,  for  you  to 
come  into  my  room?" 

"No,  that  wouldn't  do  at  all,"  he  said  simply.  "But 
look  here,  Bubbles — would  you  like  to  go  downstairs 
again,  into  the  hall?  It's  quite  warm  there," — he  felt 
that  she  was  really  shivering. 

"I'm  cold— I'm  cold!" 

"Put  on  something  warmer,"  he  said — or  rather 
ordered.  "Put  on  your  fur  coat.  Is  it  downstairs  ?  Shall 
I  go  and  fetch  it?" 

She  whispered,  "It's  in  my  room — I  know  where  it  is. 
I  know  exactly  where  Pegler  put  it." 

She  left  him  standing  in  the  corridor,  and  went  back 
into  her  room.  The  door  was  wide  open,  and  he  could 
see  that  she  was  wearing  a  white  wrapper  covered  with 
large  red  flowers — some  kind  of  Eastern,  wadded  dress- 
ing-gown. He  heard  a  cupboard  door  creak,  and  then  she 
came  out  of  the  room  dragging  her  big  fur  coat  over  her 
dressing-gown;  but  he  saw  that  her  feet  were  bare — she 
had  not  troubled  to  put  on  slippers. 

"Go  back,"  he  said  imperiously,  "and  put  some  shoes 
on,  Bubbles — you'll  catch  your  death  of  cold." 

How  amazing,  how  incredible,  this  adventure  would 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         67 

have  appeared  to  him  even  a  year  ago!  But  it  seemed 
quite  natural  now — simply  wilful  Bubbles'  way.  There 
was  nothing  Bubbles  could  do  which  would  surprise  Don- 
nington  now. 

"Don't  shut  your  door,"  he  muttered.  "It  might 
wake  someone  up.  Just  blow  out  the  candles,  and  leave 
the  door  open." 

She  obeyed  him;  and  then  he  took  her  arm — again 
blinded  by  the  sudden  obscurity  in  which  they  were  now 
plunged. 

"I  hate  going  downstairs,"  she  said  fretfully.  "Some- 
how I  feel  as  if  downstairs  were  full  of  Them!" 

"Full  of  them?"  he  repeated.  "What  on  earth  do  you 
mean,  Bubbles?" 

And  Bubbles  murmured  fearfully:  "You  know  per- 
fectly well  what  I  mean.  And  it's  all  my  fault — all  my 
fault!" 

He  whispered  rather  sternly  back :  "Yes,  Bubbles,  it  is 
your  fault.  Why  couldn't  you  leave  the  thing  alone  just 
for  a  little  while — just  through  the  Christmas  holidays  ?" 

"I  felt  so  tempted,"  she  muttered.  "I  forget  who 
it  was  who  said  'Temptation  is  so  pleasing  because  it 
need  never  be  resisted/  ' 

He  uttered  an  impatient  exclamation  under  his  breath. 

"Let's  sit  down  on  the  staircase,"  she  pleaded,  "I'm 
warmer  now.  I  think  this  would  be  a  nice  place  to  sit 
down." 

She  sank  down  on  one  of  the  broad,  low  steps  just 
below  the  landing,  and  pulled  him  down,  nestling  up  close 
to  him.  "Oh,  Bill,"  she  whispered,  "it  is  a  comfort  to 
be  with  you — a  real  comfort.  You  don't  know  what  I've 
gone  through  since  I  came  up  to  bed.  I  felt  all  the  time 


68         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

as  if  Something  was  trying  to  get  at  me — something 
cruel,  revengeful,  miserable!" 

-•    "You  ate  too  much  at  dinner,"  he  said  shortly.     "You 
oughtn't  to  have  taken  that  brandy-cherries  ice." 

They  had  very  soon  got  past  the  stage  during  which 
Donnington  had  tried  to  say  pretty  things  to  Bubbles. 

"Perhaps  I  did" — he  felt  the  gurgle  of  amusement  in 
her  voice. '  "I  was  very  hungry,  and  the  food  here  is  very 
good.  It  must  be  costing  a  lot  of  money — all  this  sort 
of  thing.  How  nice  to  be  rich !  Oh,  Bill,  how  very  nice 
to  be  rich!" 

"I  don't  agree,"  he  said  sharply.  "Varick  doesn't  look 
particularly  happy,  that  I  can  see." 

"I  wonder  if  Aunt  Blanche  would  marry  him  now?" 

"I  don't  suppose  he'd  give  her  the  chance — now." 

It  wasn't  a  very  chivalrous  thing  to  say,  or  hear  said, 
and  Bubbles  pinched  him  so  viciously  that  he  nearly  cried 
out. 

"You're  not  to  talk  like  that  of  my  Aunt  Blanche.  Quite 
lately — not  three  months  ago — someone  asked  her  to 
marry  him  for  the  thousandth  time!  But  of  course  she 
said  no — as  I  shall  do  to  you,  a  thousand  times  too,  if 
we  live  long  enough." 

She  waited  a  moment,  then  said  slowly:  "Her  man's 
rather  like  you.  He's  very  much  what  you  will  be,  Bill, 
in  about  thirty  years  from  now — a  plain,  good,  priggish 
old  fellow.  Of  course  you  know  who  it  is?  Mark  Gif- 
ford,  of  the  Home  Office.  Aunt  Blanche  only  keeps  in 
with  him  because  he's  very  useful  to  her  sometimes." 

And  then  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  strange  cruelty, 
"Just  as  /  shall  always  keep  in  with  you,  Bill,  however 
tiresome  and  disagreeable  you  may  be!  Just  because  I 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         69 

find  you  so  useful.  You're  being  useful  now;  I  don't 
feel  frightened  any  more." 

She  drew  herself  from  the  shelter  of  his  strong,  pro- 
tecting arm,  and  slid  along  the  polished  step  till  she 
leant  against  the  banister.  He  could  just  see  the  white- 
ness of  her  little  face  shining  out  of  the  big  fur  collar. 

"If  you're  feeling  all  right  again,"  he  said  rather 
coolly,  "I  think  we'd  both  better  go  to  bed.  Speaking 
for  myself,  I  feel  sleepy !" 

But  she  was  sliding  towards  him  again,  and  again  she 
clutched  his  arm.  "No,  no,"  she  whispered.  "Let's  wait 
just  a  little  longer,  Bill.  I — I  don't  feel  quite  comfortable 
in  that  room.  I  wonder  if  they'd  give  me  a  new  room 
to-morrow?  It's  funny,  I'm  not  a  bit  frightened  at  what 
they  call  the  haunted  room  here — the  room  that's  next 
Aunt  Blanche's,  in  the  other  wing  of  the  house.  A  woman 
who  killed  her  little  stepson  is  supposed  to  haunt  that 


room." 


"I  know,"  said  Donnington  shortly.  "I've  been  reading 
about  it  in  a  book  downstairs.  /  shouldn't  care  to  sleep 
in  a  room  where  such  a  thing  had  been  done — ghost  or 
no  ghost!" 

And  then  Bubbles  said  something  which  rather  startled 
him.  "Bill,"  she  whispered,  leaning  yet  closer  to  him, 
"I  raised  that  ghost  two  nights  ago." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked  sternly. 

"I  mean  that  Aunt  Blanche  and  that  tiresome  Pegler 
of  hers  had  already  been  here  a  week  and  nothing  had 
happened.  And  then — the  first  night  I  was  in  the  house 
the  ghost  appeared!" 

She  was  shivering  now,  and,  almost  unwillingly,  he 


70         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

put  his  arm  round  her  again.  "Rot!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Don't  let  yourself  think  such  things,  Bubbles " 

"I  know  you  don't  believe  it,  Bill,  but  I  have  got  the 
power  of  raising  Them." 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  believe  it  or  not,"  he  said 
slowly.  "And  I — I  sometimes  wonder  if  you  believe  it, 
Bubbles,  or  if  you're  only  pretending?" 

There  was  a  pause.  And  then  Bubbles  said  in  a 
strange  tone :  "  'Tisn't  a  question  of  believing  it  now, 
Bill.  I  know  it's  true !  I  wish  it  wasn't." 

"If  it's  true,"  he  said,  "or  even  if  you  only  believe 
it's  true,  what  on  earth  made  you  do  what  you  did  to- 
night?" 

"It  was  so  deadly,"  she  exclaimed,  "so  deadly  dull!" 
She  yawned.  "You  see,  I  can't  help  yawning  even  at  the 
recollection  of  it !" 

And  in  the  darkness  her  companion  smiled. 

"I  felt  as  if  I  wanted  to  wake  them  all  up!  Also  I 
felt  as  if  I  wanted  to  know  something  more  about  them 
than  I  did.  Also"— she  hesitated. 

"Yes?"  he  said  questioningly. 

"I  rather  wanted  to  impress  Aunt  Blanche."  The  words 
came  slowly,  reluctantly. 

"I  wonder  what  made  you  want  to  do  that?"  asked 
Donnington  dryly. 

"Somehow — well,  you  know,  Bill,  that  sort  of  cool 
unbelief  of  hers  stings  me.  She's  always  thought  I 
make  it  all  up  as  I  go  along." 

"You  do  sometimes,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  used  to,  Bill — but  I  don't  now :  it  isn't  necessary." 

He  turned  rather  quickly.     "Honest  Injun,  Bubbles?" 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         71 

"Yes.  Honest  Injun!"  There  was  a  pause.  "What 
do  you  think  of  Varick?"  she  suddenly  whispered. 

"I  think  Mr.  Varick/'  answered  Donnington  coldly, 
"is  a  thoroughly  nice  sort  of  chap.  I  like  his  rather  elab- 
orate, old-fashioned  manners." 

"He's  a  queer  card  for  all  his  pretty  manners,"  mut- 
tered Bubbles;  and  somehow  Donnington  felt  that  some- 
thing else  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  say,  but  that 
she  had  checked  herself,  just  in  time. 

"I  wish,"  he  said  earnestly,  "I  do  wish,  Bubbles,  that 
you  and  I  could  have  a  nice,  old-fashioned  Christmas. 
They  sent  up  to-night  to  know  if  Mr.  Varick  would  allow 
some  of  his  holly  to  be  cut  for  decorating  the  church — 
why  shouldn't  we  go  down  to-morrow  and  help?  Do, 
Bubbles — to  please  me !" 

"I  will,"  she  said  penitently.     "I  will,  dearest." 

Donnington  sighed — a  short,  quick  sigh.  He  could  re- 
member the  exquisite  thrill  it  had  given  him  when  she 
had  first  uttered  the  word — in  a  crowd  of  careless  peo- 
ple. Now,  when  Bubbles  called  him  "dearest"  it  did  not 
thrill  him  at  all,  for  he  knew  she  said  it  to  a  great  many 
people — and  yet  it  always  gave  him  pleasure  to  hear  her 
utter  the  dear,  intimate  little  word  to  him. 

"Get  up  and  go  to  bed,  you  naughty  girl!"  he  said 
good-humouredly,  but  there  was  a  great  deal  of  tender- 
ness in  his  low,  level  tone. 

She  rose  quickly  to  her  feet.  All  her  movements  were 
quick  and  lightsome  and  free.  There  was  a  touch  of 
Ariel  about  Bubbles,  so  Bill  Donnington  sometimes  told 
himself. 

They  walked  up  the  few  shallow  steps  together,  she  still 
very  close  to  him.  And  then,  when  they  were  opposite 


72         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

her  door,  she  exclaimed,  but  in  a  very  low  whisper :  "Now 
you  must  say  the  prayer  with  me — for  me!" 

"The  prayer?    What  do  you  mean,  Bubbles?" 

"You  know,"  she  muttered : 

"Matthew,  Mark,  Luke  and  John, 
Bless  the  bed  that  I  lie  on— 

"What's  after  that?"  she  asked. 

He  went  on,  uttering  the  quaint  words  very  seriously, 
very  reverently: 

"Four  corners  to  my  bed, 
Four  Angels  round  my  head; 
One  to  watch  and  one  to  pray, 
One  to  keep  all  fears  away" — 

"No,"  she  exclaimed  fretfully.  "  'One  to  keep  my  soul 
in  bed/  That's  what  /  say.  I  don't  want  my  poor  little 
soul  to  go  wandering  about  this  beautiful,  terrible  old 
house  when  I'm  asleep.  Good-night,  Goody  goody!" 

She  put  up  her  face  as  a  child  might  have  done,  and 
he  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  as  he  might  have  kissed  a 
wilful,  naughty  child  who  had  just  told  him  she  was  sorry 
for  something  she  had  done. 

"God  bless  you,"  he  said  huskily.  "God  bless  and  keep 
you  from  any  real  harm,  Bubbles  my  darling." 


CHAPTER  VI 

AS  regarded  Lionel  Varick,  the  second  day  of  his 
house-party  at  Wyndfell  Hall  opened  most  inau- 
spiciously,  for,  when  approaching  the  dining-room,  he 
became  aware  that  the  door  was  not  really  closed,  and 
that  Mr.  Burnaby  and  his  niece  were  having  what  seemed 
to  be  an  animated  and  even  angry  discussion. 

"I  don't  like  this  place,  and  I  don't  care  for  your  fine 

friend,  Mr.  Varick "  Such  was  the  very  unpleasant 

observation  which  the  speaker's  unlucky  host  overheard. 

There  came  instant  silence  when  he  pushed  open  the 
door,  and  Helen  with  heightened  colour  looked  up,  and 
exlaimed :  "My  uncle  has  to  go  back  to  London  this  morn- 
ing. Isn't  it  unfortunate?  He's  had  a  letter  from  an 
old  friend  who  hasn't  been  in  England  for  some  years, 
and  he  feels  he  must  go  up  and  spend  Christmas  with  him, 
instead  of  staying  with  us  here." 

Varick  was  much  taken  aback.  He  didn't  believe  in 
the  old  friend.  His  mind  at  once  reverted  to  what  had 
happened  the  night  before.  It  was  the  seance  which  had 
upset  Mr.  Burnaby — not  a  doubt  of  it!  Without  being 
exactly  unpleasant,  the  guest's  manner  this  morning  was 
cold,  very  cold — and  Varick  himself  was  hard  put  to 
it  to  hide  his  annoyance. 

He  had  taken  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  the  last  few 
months  to  conciliate  this  queer,  disagreeable,  rather  sus- 
picious old  gentleman,  and  he  had  thought  he  had  suc- 

73 


74         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

ceeded.  The  words  he  had  overheard  when  approaching 
the  dining-room  showed  how  completely  he  had  failed. 
And  now  Bubbles  Dunster,  with  her  stupid  tomfoolery, 
was  actually  driving  Mr.  Burnaby  away ! 

But  Mr.  Burnaby's  host  was  far  too  well  used  to  con- 
ceal his  thoughts,  and  to  command  his  emotions,  to  do 
more  than  gravely  assent,  with  an  expression  of  regret. 
Nay  more,  as  some  of  the  others  gradually  lounged  in,  and 
as  the  meal  became  a  trifle  more  animated,  he  told  him- 
self that  after  all  Mr.  Burnaby  might  have  turned  out  a 
spoil-sport,  especially  with  regard  to  a  secret,  all-im- 
portant matter  which  he,  the  convener  of  this  curiously 
assorted  Christmas  party,  had  very  much  at  heart. 

Even  so,  for  the  first  time  in  their  long  friendship, 
he  felt  at  odds  with  Blanche  Farrow.  She  ought  to 
have  stopped  the  seance  the  moment  she  saw  whither  it 
was  tending!  His  own  experience  of  Bubbles*  peculiar 
gift  had  been  very  far  from  agreeable,  and  had  given 
him  a  thoroughly  bad  night.  That  strange,  sinister  evoca- 
tion of  his  long-dead  mother  had  stirred  embers  Varick 
had  believed  to  be  long  dead — embers  he  had  done  his 
best,  as  it  were,  to  stamp  out  from  his  memory. 

Another  thing  which  added  to  his  ill-humour  was  the 
fact  that  Bubbles,  alone  of  the  party,  had  not  come  down 
to  breakfast.  In  such  matters  she  was  an  absolute  law 
unto  herself;  but  whereas  during  the  first  two  days  of 
the  girl's  stay  at  Wyndfell  Hall  her  host  had  been  rather 
glad  to  miss  her  at  breakfast — it  had  been  a  cosy  little 
meal  shared  by  him  and  Blanche — he  now  resented  her 
absence.  He  told  himself  angrily  that  she  ought  to  have 
been  there  to  help  to  entertain  everybody,  and  to  cheer 
up  sulky  James  Tapster.  The  latter  had  asked :  "Where's 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP    75 

Miss  Bubbles?"  with  an  injured  air — as  if  he  thought 
she  ought  to  be  forming  part  of  the  excellent  breakfast. 

Mr.  Burnaby  was  determined  to  get  away  from  Wynd- 
fell  Hall  as  soon  as  possible,  and  by  eleven  o'clock  the 
whole  party,  excepting  Bubbles,  was  in  the  hall,  bidding 
him  good-bye.  And  then  it  was  that  Varick  suddenly 
realized  with  satisfaction  that  both  Miss  Burnaby  and 
Helen  regarded  the  departure  of  their  kinsman  with  per- 
fect equanimity.  Was  it  possible  that  Helen  was  glad  her 
uncle  and  guardian  was  leaving  her  alone — for  once?  The 
thought  was  a  very  pleasant  one  to  her  present  entertainer 
and  host. 

Even  so,  after  he  and  Blanche  Farrow  turned  away 
from  the  porch  where  they  had  been  speeding  the  parting 
guest,  she  noticed  that  Varick  looked  more  annoyed,  more 
thoroughly  put  out,  than  she  had  ever  seen  him — and 
she  had  seen  him  through  some  rather  bad  moments  in 
the  long  course  of  their  friendship ! 

"I  hope  Bubbles  won't  try  on  any  more  of  her  thought- 
reading  tomfoolery,"  he  said  disagreeably.  "What  hap- 
pened last  night  has  driven  Mr.  Burnaby  away." 

"I  think  you're  wrong,"  said  Blanche  quickly.  "I'm 
certain  he  received  the  letter  of  which  he  spoke." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you" ;  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
Varick  restrained  himself  from  telling  her  what  he  had 
overheard  the  unpleasant  old  man  say  to  his  niece. 

"I  think  we  shall  get  on  all  the  better  without  him," 
said  Blanche  decidedly. 

She  vaguely  resented  the  way  in  which  Varick  spoke 
of  Bubbles.  After  all,  the  girl  had  come  to  Wyndfell  Hall 
out  of  the  purest  good  nature — in  order  to  help  them 
through  with  their  party. 


76         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"Oh,  well,  I  daresay  you're  right."  (He  couldn't  afford 
to  quarrel  with  Blanche.)  "And  I  forgot  one  thing. 
I've  heard  from  Panton " 

"You  mean  your  doctor  friend?"  she  said  coldly. 

"Yes,  and  he  hopes  to  be  here  sooner  than  he  thought 
he  could  be.  He's  a  good  chap,  Blanche" — there  came 
a  note  of  real  feeling  into  Varick's  voice — "awfully  hard- 
worked!  I  hope  we'll  be  able  to  give  him  a  good  time." 

"He'll  have  to  sleep  in  the  haunted  room." 

"That  won't  matter.  He  wouldn't  believe  in  a  ghost, 
even  if  he  saw  one!  Be  nice  to  him,  for  my  sake;  he 
was  awfully  good  to  me,  Blanche." 

And  Blanche  Farrow  softened.  There  was  a  very 
good  side  to  her  friend  Lionel.  He  was  one  of  those  rare 
human  beings  who  are,  in  a  moral  sense,  greatly  benefited 
by  prosperity.  In  old  days,  though  his  attractive,  domi- 
nant personality  had  brought  him  much  kindness,  and 
even  friendship,  of  a  useful  kind,  his  hand  had  always 
been,  as  Blanche  Farrow  knew  well,  more  or  less  against 
every  man.  But  now? — now  he  seemed  to  look  at  the 
world  through  rose-coloured  glasses. 

He  glanced  at  the  still  very  attractive  woman  standing 
by  his  side,  his  good-humour  quite  restored.  "A  penny 
for  your  thoughts !"  he  said  jokingly. 

Blanche  shook  her  head,  smiling.  Not  for  very  much 
more  than  a  penny  would  she  have  told  him  the  thought 
that  had  suddenly  come,  as  such  thoughts  will  do,  into 
her  mind.  That  thought  was,  how  extraordinary  had 
been  Varick's  transformation  from  what  a  censorious 
world  might  have  called  an  unscrupulous  adventurer  into 
a  generous  man  of  position  and  substance — all  owing  to 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         77 

the  fact  that  some  two  years  ago  he  had  drifted  across 
an  unknown  woman  in  a  foreign  hotel! 

Even  to  Blanche  there  was  something  pathetic  in  the 
thought  of  "poor  Milly,"  whose  birthplace  and  home  this 
beautiful  and  strangely  perfect  old  house  had  been.  It 
was  Milly — not  that  sinister  figure  that  Pegler  thought 
she  had  seen — whose  form  ought  to  haunt  Wyndfell  Hall. 
But  there  survived  no  trace,  no  trifling  memento  even,  of 
the  dead  woman's  evidently  colourless  personality. 

And  as  if  Varick  had  guessed  part  of  what  was  pass- 
ing through  her  mind,  "Any  news  of  the  ghost,  Blanche  ?" 
he  asked  jokingly.  "How's  my  friend  Pegler  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"Pegler's  quite  all  right!  I'm  the  person  who  ought 
to  have  seen  the  ghost — but  of  course  I  neither  saw  nor 
heard  anything." 

As  they  came  through  into  the  hall  where  the  rest  of 
the  party  were  gathered  together,  Blanche  heard  Helen 
Brabazon  exclaim:  "This  is  a  most  wonderful  old  book, 
Mr.  Varick!  It  gives  such  a  curious  account  of  a  ghost 
who  is  supposed  to  haunt  this  house — the  ghost  of  a 
most  awfully  wicked  woman  who  killed  her  stepson  by 
throwing  him  into  the  moat,  and  then  drowned  her- 
self  " 

Mr.  Tapster,  who  seldom  contributed  anything  worth 
hearing  to  the  conversation,  suddenly  remarked:  "The 
ghost  has  been  seen  within  the  last  two  days  by  one  of 
the  servants  here." 

"Who  told  you  that?"  asked  Varick  sharply. 

"My  valet ;  I  always  hear  all  the  news  from  him." 

Helen  clapped  her  hands.  "How  splendid !"  she  cried. 
"That  makes  everything  simply  perfect!"  She  turned 


78         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

her  eager,  smiling  face  on  Lionel  Varick,  "I've  always 
longed  to  stay  in  a  haunted  house.  I  wish  the  ghost  would 
appear  to  me !" 

"Don't  wish  that,  Miss  Brabazon." 

It  was  Sir  Lyon's  quiet  voice  which  uttered  those  five 
words  very  gravely. 

Sir  Lyon  liked  Helen  Brabazon.  She  was  the  only 
one  of  the  party,  with  the  exception  of  Bill  Donnington, 
whom  he  did  like.  He  was  puzzled,  however,  by  her  ap- 
parent intimacy  with  their  attractive  host.  How  and  where 
could  Varick  have  come  across  the  Burnabys  and  their 
niece?  They  had  nothing  in  common  with  his  usual 
associates  and  surroundings.  In  their  several  ways  they 
were  like  beings  from  different  planets. 

Sir  Lyon  knew  a  great  deal  about  Lionel  Varick,  though 
he  had  seen  nothing  of  him  during  the  few  months 
Varick's  married  life  had  lasted.  Like  Miss  Farrow, 
Sir.  Lyon  was  honestly  glad  that  his  present  host,  after 
turning  some  dangerous  corners,  had  drifted,  by  an  amaz- 
ing series  of  lucky  bumps,  into  so  safe  and  pleasant  a 
haven.  There  are  certain  people,  who,  when  unsatisfied, 
and  baulked  of  whatever  may  be  their  hidden  desires,  are 
dangerous  to  their  fellows.  Such  a  man,  Sir  Lyon  was 
secretly  convinced,  had  been  Lionel  Varick.  Such,  evi- 
dently, was  he  no  longer. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  haunted  room  ?"  He  heard 
Varick  ask  the  question  in  that  deep,  musical  voice  which 
many  people  found  so  attractive.  Helen  eagerly  as- 
sented, and  they  disappeared  together. 

Sir  Lyon  and  Bill  Donnington  went  off  to  the  library, 
and  for  a  few  moments  Blanche  Farrow  and  Miss  Bur- 
naby  were  alone  together  in  the  hall.  "Your  niece  seems 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         79 

to  have  very  remarkable  psychic  gifts,"  said  the  old 
lady  hesitatingly. 

And  Blanche  suddenly  remembered Why,  of 

course!  Miss  Burnaby  had  been  one  of  the  people  most 
strongly  affected  by  what  had  happened  the  night  be- 
fore ;  she  must  choose  her  words  carefully.  So,  "Bubbles 
has  a  remarkable  gift  of  thought-reading,"  she  answered 
quietly.  "Personally  I  am  quite  convinced  that  it's  not 
anything  more." 

"Are  you?"  There  was  a  curious,  questioning  look 
on  Miss  Burnaby's  usually  placid  face.  "D'you  think 
then,  that  what  happened  last  night  was  all  thought-read- 
ing?" 

"Certainly  I  think  so!  But  I  admit  that  perhaps  I 
am  not  a  fair  judge,  for  I  haven't  the  slightest  belief  in 
what  Bubbles  would  call  occultism." 

"I  know  a  lady  who  goes  in  for  all  that  sort  of 
thing,"  said  Miss  Burnaby  slowly.  "My  brother  dis- 
approves of  my  acquaintance  with  her.  She  once  took  me 
to  what  is  called  a  Circle,  and,  of  course,  I  could  not  help 
feeling  interested.  But  the  medium  who  was  there  was 
not  nearly  as  remarkable  as  Miss  Dunster  seems  to  be; 
I  mean  she  did  not  get  the  same  results — at  any  rate,  not 
in  my  case." 

"I'm  afraid  what  happened  last  night  rather  upset  you," 
said  Blanche  uncomfortably.  "I  know  it  would  have 
annoyed  me  very  much  if  the  same  thing  had  happened 
to  me." 

"It  is  true  that  I  was,  as  a  girl,  engaged  to  an  Austrian 
officer.  We  were  very  devoted  to  one  another,  but  my 
dear  father  refused  his  consent.  So  what  occurred  last 
night  brought  back  many  painful  memories." 


8o         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Miss  Burnaby  spoke  very  simply,  but  there  was  a 
note  of  deep  sadness  in  her  voice,  and  Blanche  told  her- 
self that  she  had  been  wrong  in  regarding  her  as  simply 
a  dull,  conventional,  greedy  old  woman. 

"I'm  very  sorry  now  that  I  allowed  Bubbles  to  do  it," 
she  exclaimed.  "I'm  afraid  it  upset  your  brother,  too, 
very  much?" 

Again  there  came  a  curious  change  over  Miss  Burna- 
by's  face.  She  hesitated  perceptibly — and  then  answered: 
"I  would  not  say  so  to  any  of  the  younger  people  here, 
of  course.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  my  brother  had  a 
very  unpleasant  experience  as  a  young  man.  He  fell  in 
love,  or  thought  he  fell  in  love,  with  a  young  woman. 
It  was  a  very  unfortunate  and  tragic  affair — for,  Miss 
Farrow,  the  unhappy  young  person  killed  herself !  I  was 
very  young  at  the  time,  and  I  was  not  supposed  to  know 
anything  about  it.  But  of  course  I  did  know.  Poor  Ted 
had  to  give  evidence  at  the  inquest.  It  was  dreadful, 
dreadful!  We  have  never  spoken  of  it  all  these  many 
years  we  have  lived  together.  You  realize,  Miss  Far- 
row, that  the  young  person  was  not  in  our  class  of  life?" 
— the  old  lady  drew  herself  up  stiffly. 

Blanche  felt  much  relieved  when,  at  that  moment 
Bubbles  appeared.  She  made  a  delightful,  brilliant,  Goya- 
like  picture,  in  her  yellow  jumper  and  long  chain  of  coral 
beads.  But  she  looked  very  tired. 

"Have  all  the  others  gone  out?"  she  asked  languidly. 
And  before  Blanche  could  answer,  Miss  Burnaby,  mur- 
muring something  about  having  letters  to  write,  quickly 
left  the  room.  The  sight  of  the  girl  affected  her  pain- 
fully; but  it  also  intensified  her  longing  for  what  she 
had  heard  called  "a  private  sitting." 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         81 

"Lionel  is  showing  Miss  Brabazon  over  the  house. 
She's  very  much  thrilled  over  Pegler's  experience.  I 
can't  make  that  girl  out — can  you,  Bubbles?" 

Miss  Farrow  drew  nearer  to  the  fire.  "She's  such  a 
queer  mixture  oi  shrewdness  and  simplicity,"  she  went 
on.  "She  doesn't  seem  ever  to  have  gone  anywhere,  or 
seen  anyone,  and  yet  she's  so — so  mature !  I  believe  she's 
exactly  your  age." 

"I  feel  about  a  hundred  to-day,"  said  Bubbles  wearily. 

Blanche  was  wondering  how  she  could  open  on  the  sub- 
ject about  which  she'd  promised  to  speak  to  the  girl. 
Somehow  she  always  very  much  disliked  speaking  to 
Bubbles  of  what  she  called,  in  her  own  mind,  "all  that 
unhealthy  rot  and  nonsense!"  And  yet  she  must  say 
something — she  had  promised  Lionel  Varick  to  do  so. 

Bubbles'  next  words  gave  her  no  opening. 

"I  have  no  use  for  Helen  Brabazon,"  she  said  pettishly. 
"A  very  little  of  her  would  bore  me  to  death.  But  still, 
I  amused  myself  at  dinner  last  night  thinking  what  I 
should  do  if  I  had  all  her  money." 

"All  her  money?"  repeated  Blanche,  puzzled. 

"Don't  you  know  that  she's  one  of  the  richest  girls  in 
England?" 

"Is  that  really  true?" — Blanche  felt  surprised,  and  more 
than  surprised,  keenly  interested.  "How  d'you  know, 
Bubbles?  Lionel  never  told  me ." 

Bubbles  gave  a  quick,  queer  look  at  her  aunt.  "Mr. 
Tapster  told  me  all  about  her  last  night,"  she  answered. 
"I  suppose  because  he's  so  rich  himself  he  takes  a  kind  of 
morbid  interest  in  other  rich  people.  He  said  that  she's 
the  owner  of  one  of  the  biggest  metal-broking  businesses 
— whatever  that  may  mean — in  the  world.  But  her  uncle 


82         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

and  aunt  have  never  allowed  her  to  know  anyone  or  to 
see  anyone  outside  their  own  tiresome,  fuggy  old  lot. 
They've  a  perfect  terror  of  fortune-hunters,  it  seems. 
The  poor  girl's  hardly  ever  spoken  to  a  man — not  to  what 
/  should  call  a  man!  I'm  surprised  they  allowed  her  to 
come  here.  I  heard  her  tell  Sir  Lyon  last  night  at  dinner 
that  this  was  the  first  time  she'd  ever  paid  what  she  called 
a  country  visit.  Apparently  Harrogate  or  Brighton  is 
those  awful  old  people's  idea  of  a  pleasant  change.  Up 
to  now  Miss  Helen's  own  idea  of  heaven  seems  to  have 
been  Strathpeffer." 

"How  very  strange!"  But  Blanche  Farrow  was  not 
thinking  of  Helen  Brabazon's  possible  idea  of  heaven  as 
she  uttered  the  three  words. 

Bubbles  chuckled.  "I  touched  the  old  gentleman  up  a 
bit  yesterday/didn't  I,  Blanche?" 

This  gave  her  aunt  the  opportunity  for  which  she  was 
seeking.  "You  did!  And  as  a  result  he  made  up  some 
cock-and-bull  excuse  and  went  back  to  London  this  morn- 
ing. Lionel  is  very  much  put  out  about  it." 

"I  should  have  thought  Lionel  would  have  been  glad," 
said  Bubbles,  and  there  came  into  her  voice  the  touch  of 
slight,  almost  insolent,  contempt  with  which  she  generally 
spoke  of  Lionel  Varick. 

"He  was  very  far  from  glad;  he  was  furious,"  said 
Blanche  gravely. 

"I  only  did  it  because  he  said  he  wanted  his  guests  en- 
tertained," said  Bubbles  sulkily. 

And  then,  after  there  had  been  a  rather  long  silence 
between  them,  she  asked:  "What  did  you  think  of  it, 
Blanche  ?  You'd  never  been  at  a  seance  before,  had  you  ?" 

Miss  Farrow  hesitated.    "Of  course  I  was  impressed," 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         83 

she  acknowledged.  "I  kept  wondering  how  you  did  it. 
I  mean  that  I  kept  wondering  how  those  people's  thoughts 
were  conveyed  to  your  brain." 

"Then  you  didn't  believe  that  I  saw  anything  of  the 
things  I  said  I  saw?"  said  Bubbles  slowly.  "You  thought 
it  was  all  fudge  on  my  part?" 

Her  aunt  reddened.  "I  don't  quite  know  what  you 
mean  by  saying  that.  Of  course  I  don't  believe  you  saw 
the — the  figures  you  described  so  clearly.'  But  I  realized 
that  in  some  queer  way  you  must  have  got  hold  of  the 
memory  of  your  victims.  Lionel  admits  that  you  did  so 
in  his  case." 

"Does  he  indeed?"    Bubbles  spoke  with  sharp  sarcasm. 

There  rose  before  her  a  vision  of  her  host's  pale,  star- 
tled face.  In  some  ways  he  had  been  the  most  inwardly 
perturbed  of  her  last  night's  sitters,  and  she,  the  medium, 
had  been  well  aware  of  it. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  suddenly  and  inconsequently, 
"if  Lionel  has  some  enemy — I  mean  a  woman — in  his  life, 
of  whom  his  friends  know  nothing?" 

Blanche  looked  dubiously  at  the  girl.  "That's  the  sort 
of  thing  one  can  never  know  about  a  man,"  she  said 
slowly. 

"The  woman  I  mean" — Bubbles  was  going  on  rather 
quickly  and  breathlessly  now — "is  not  a  young  woman. 
She's  about  sixty,  I  should  think.  She  has  a  plain,  power- 
ful face,  with  a  lot  of  grey  hair  turned  off  her  fore- 
head." 

"Have  you  ever  seen  such  a  person  with  Lionel  ?"  asked 
Miss  Farrow. 

"No,  not  exactly." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Bubbles?" 


84          FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"I  can't  quite  explain  what  I  mean.  Even  before  the 
seance  I  seemed  to  feel  her  last  night.  I  suppose  you 
would  say  I  saw  her  in  his  mind — in  what  some  people 
would  call  his  inner  consciousness." 

Blanche  stared  at  the  girl  uncomfortably.  "D'you 
mean  you  can  always  see  what  people  are  thinking  of?" 
she  exclaimed. 

Bubbles  burst  out  laughing.  "Of  course  I  can't!  You 
needn't  feel  nervous."  She  went  up  to  her  aunt,  and 
thrust  her  hand  through  the  other's  arm.  "Don't  be  wor- 
ried, old  thing" — she  spoke  very  affectionately.  "I've 
promised  Bill  that  I'll  put  everything  of  the  kind  he  and 
father  disapprove  of  away— just  while  I'm  here!  But 
still,  Blanche " 

Miss  Farrow  had  never  seen  the  girl  in  this  serious, 
thoughtful  mood  before.  "Yes,"  she  said.  "Yes,  Bub- 
bles?" 

"Oh,  well,  I  only  just  wanted  to  quote  something  to  you 
that's  rather  hackneyed." 

"Hackneyed?"  repeated  Miss  Farrow. 

"There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  my  dear, 
than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philsophy." 

Blanche  Farrow  felt  a  little  piqued.  "I've  never 
doubted  that,"  she  said  curtly. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MEANWHILE,  one  of  the  subjects  of  their  dis- 
cussion  was  thoroughly  enjoying  her  tour  of 
Wyndfell  Hall;  and  as  she  entered  each  of  the  curious, 
stately  rooms  upstairs  and  down,  Helen  Brabazon  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  pleasure  and  rather  na'ive  admiration. 
Not  a  corner  or  a  passage-way  but  had  some  fine  piece 
of  old  furniture,  some  exquisite  needle-picture  or  panel 
of  tapestry,  in  keeping  with  the  general  character  of  the 
ancient  dwelling  place. 

Her  cicerone  would  have  enjoyed  their  progress  more 
had  it  not  been  that  his  companion  frequently  referred  to 
his  late  wife.  "How  strange  that  Milly  did  not  love  this 
wonderful  old  house!"  she  exclaimed.  And  then,  when 
they  had  gone  a  little  further  on,  she  suddenly  asked :  "I 
wish  you'd  tell  me  which  was  Milly's  room?  Surely  she 
must  have  been  happy  here  sometimes!'5 

But  the  new  master  of  Wyndfell  Hall  had  never  even 
thought  of  asking  which  had  been  his  wife's  room.  And, 
on  seeing  the  troubled,  embarrassed  look  which  crossed 
his  face  while  he  confessed  his  ignorance,  Helen  felt 
sharply  sorry  that  she  had  asked  the  question.  To  his 
relief,  she  spoke  no  more  of  Milly,  and  of  Milly's  as- 
sociation with  the  house  which  so  charmed  and  at- 
tracted her. 

One  of  the  strangest,  most  disturbing  facts  about  our 
complex  human  nature  is  how  very  little  we  know  of  what 

85 


86          FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

is  passing  in  another's  mind.  Helen  Brabazon  would 
have  been  amazed  indeed  had  she  seen  even  only  a  very 
little  way  into  her  present  companion's  secret  thoughts. 
How  surprised  she  would  have  been,  for  instance,  to  know 
that  the  only  thing  about  herself  Varick  would  have  liked 
altered  was  her  association  with  that  part  of  his  life 
to  which  he  never  willingly  returned,  even  in  his  thoughts. 
The  part  of  his  life,  that  is,  which  had  been  spent  by  his 
dying  wife  and  himself  at  Redsands.  It  was  with  nervous 
horror  that  he  unwillingly  recalled  any  incident,  however 
slight,  connected  with  those  tragic  weeks.  And  yet  Helen, 
had  she  been  asked,  would  have  said  that  he  must  often 
dwell  on  them  in  loving  retrospect.  She  honestly  believed 
that  the  link  between  them,  even  now,  was  a  survival  of 
what  had  been  their  mutual  affection  for  the  then  dying 
woman,  and  the  touching  dependence  that  same  woman 
had  shown  on  their  joint  love  and  care. 

As  they  wandered  on  together,  apparently  on  the  most 
happily  intimate  terms  of  liking  and  of  friendship,  about 
the  delightful  old  house,  there  was  scarce  a  thought  in 
Lionel  Varick's  mind  that  would  not  have  surprised,  dis- 
turbed, and  puzzled  his  companion. 

For  one  thing,  he  was  looking  at  Helen  Brabazon  far 
more  critically  than  he  had  looked  at  any  woman  for 
a  very  long  time,  telling  himself,  rather  ruefully  the  while, 
that  she  was  not  the  type  of  girl  that  at  any  time  of  his 
life  would  have  naturally  attracted  him.  But  he  was  well 
aware  that  this  was  his  misfortune,  not  his  fault;  and  he 
did  like  her — he  did  respect  her. 

How  strange  it  was  to  know  that  in  her  well-shaped 
little  hand  there  lay  such  immense  potential  power !  Varick 
fully  intended  that  that  little  hand  should  one  day,  sooner 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         87 

rather  than  later,  lie,  confidingly,  in  his.  And  when  that 
happened  he  intended  to  behave  very  well.  He  would 
"make  good,"  as  our  American  cousins  call  it;  he  would 
go  into  public  life,  maybe,  and  make  a  big  name  for  him- 
self, and,  incidentally,  for  her.  What  might  he  not  do, 
indeed — with  Helen  Brabazon's  vast  fortune  joined  to 
her  impeccable  good  name!  He  did  not  wish  to  give  up 
his  own  old  family  name ;  but  why  should  they  not  become 
the  Brabazon-Varicks  ?  So  far  had  he  actually  travelled 
in  his  own  mind,  as  he  escorted  his  young  lady  guest 
about  the  upper  rooms  and  corridors  of  Wyndfell  Hall. 

As  he  glanced,  now  and  again,  at  the  girl  walking  com- 
posedly by  his  side,  he  felt  he  would  have  given  any- 
thing— anything — to  have  known  what  was  behind  those 
candid  hazel  eyes,  that  broad  white  brow.  Again  he  was 
playing  for  a  great-  stake,  and  playing,  this  time,  more  or 
less  in  the  dark.  .  .  . 

His  mind  and  memory  swung  back,  in  spite  of  himself, 
to  his  late  wife.  Milly  Fauncey  had  liked  him  almost  from 
the  first  day  they  had  met.  It  had  been  like  the  attraction 
— but  of  course  that  was  the  very  last  simile  that  would 
have  occurred  to  Varick  himself — of  a  rabbit  for  a  cobra. 
He  had  had  but  to  look  at  the  self-absorbed,  shy,  diffi- 
dent human  being,  to  fascinate  and  draw  her  to  himself. 
The  task  would  have  been  almost  too  easy,  but  for  the 
dominant  personality  of  poor  Milly 's  companion,  Julia 
Pigchalke.  She  had  fought  against  him,  tooth  and  claw; 
but,  cunning  old  Dame  Nature  had  been  on  his  side  in 
the  fight,  and,  of  course,  Nature  had  won. 

Miss  Pigchalke.  had  always  made  the  fatal  mistake  of 
keeping  her  ex-pupil  too  much  to  herself.  And  during 
a  certain  fatal  three  days  when  the  companion  had  been 


88         FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

confined  to  her  hotel  bedroom  by  a  bad  cold,  the  friend- 
ship of  shy,  nervous  Milly  Fauncey,  and  of  bold,  confident 
Lionel  Varick,  had  fast  ripened,  fostered  by  the  romantic 
Italian  atmosphere.  During  these  three  days  Varick, 
almost  without  trying  to  do  so,  had  learnt  all  there  was 
to  learn  of  the  simple-minded  spinster  and  of  her  finan- 
cial circumstances.  But  he  was  not  the  man  to  take  any 
risk,  and  he  had  actually  paid  a  flying  visit  to  London — a 
visit  of  which  he  had  later  had  the  grace  to  feel  secretly 
ashamed — for  it  had  had  for  object  that  of  making  quite 
sure,  at  Somerset  House,  that  Miss  Fauncey 's  account  of 
herself  was  absolutely  correct. 

Yes,  the  wooing  jf  Milly  Fauncey  had  been  almost  too 
easy,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  not  likely  to  be  so  fortu- 
nate this  time.  But  now  the  prize  to  be  won  was  such  an 
infinitely  greater  prize! 

He  told  himself  that  he  mustn't  be  impatient.  This, 
after  all,  was  only  the  second  day  of  Helen  Brabazon's 
stay  at  Wyndfell  Hall.  Perhaps  it  was  a  good  thing  that 
her  cantankerous  old  uncle  had  betaken  himself  off.  Mis- 
fortune had  a  way  of  turning  itself  into  good  fortune 
where  Lionel  Varick  was  concerned;  for  he  was  bold  and 
brave,  as  well  as  always  ready  to  seize  opportunity  at  the 
flood. 

When,  at  last,  they  had  almost  finished  their  tour  of 
the  house,  and  he  was  showing  her  into  the  haunted  room, 
she  clapped  her  hands  delightedly.  "This  is  exactly  the 
sort  of  room  in  which  one  would  expect  to  meet  a 
ghost!"  she  exclaimed. 

The  room  into  which  she  had  just  been  ushered  had, 
in  very  truth,  a  strange,  unused,  haunted  look.  Very 
different  from  that  into  which  Helen  had  just  peeped. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP          89 

For  Miss  Farrow's  present  bed-chamber,  with  its  tapes- 
tried and  panelled  walls,  its  red  brocaded  curtains,  and 
carved  oak  furniture,  the  whole  lit  up  by  a  bright,  cheer- 
ful fire,  was  very  cosy.  But  here,  in  the  haunted  room 
next  door,  the  fire  was  only  lit  at  night,  and  now  one 
of  the  windows  over  the  moat  was  open,  and  it  was  very 
cold. 

Helen  went  over  to  the  open  window.  She  leant  over 
and  stared  down  into  the  dark,  sullen-looking  water. 

"How  beautiful  this  place  must  be  in  summer!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"I  hope  you  will  come  and  see  it,  this  next  summer." 

Varick  spoke  in  measured  tones,  b^t  deep  in  his  heart 
he  not  only  hoped,  but  he  was  determined  on  something 
very  different — namely,  that  the  girl  now  turning  her 
bright,  guileless,  eager  face  to  his  would  then  be  installed 
at  Wyndfell  Hall  as  his  wife,  and  therefore  as  mistress  of 
the  wonderful  old  house.  And  this  hope,  this  imperious 
determination,  turned  his  mind  suddenly  to  a  less  agree- 
able subject  of  thought — that  is,  to  Bubbles  Dunster. 

Had  he  known  what  he  now  knew  about  Bubbles'  cur- 
ious gift,  he  would  not  have  included  her  in  his  Christ- 
mas party.  He  felt  that  she  might  become  a  disturbing 
element  in  the  pleasant  gathering.  Also  he  was  beginning 
to  suspect  that  she  did  not  like  him,  and  it  was  a  disagree- 
able, unnerving  suspicion  in  his  present  mood. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Bubbles  Dunster?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  like  her !"  cried  Helen.  "I  think  she's  a  wonder- 
ful girl!"  And  then  her  voice  took  on  a  graver  tinge: 
"I  couldn't  help  being  very  much  impressed  last  night, 
Mr.  Varick.  You  see,  my  father,  who  died  when  I  was 


9o          FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

only  eight  years  old,  always  called  me  'Girlie.'  Somehow 
that  made  me  feel  as  if  he  was  really  there." 

"And  yet,"  said  Varick  slowly,  "Bubbles  told  you 
nothing  that  you  didn't  know?  To  my  mind  what  hap- 
pened last  night  was  simply  a  clever  exhibition  of  thought- 
reading.  She's  always  had  the  gift." 

"The  odd  thing  was,"  said  Helen,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  "that  she  said  my  father  didn't  like  my  being 
here.  That  wasn't  thought-reading " 

"There's  something  a  little  queer— a  little  tricky  and 
malicious  sometimes — about  Bubbles,"  he  said  meaningly. 

Helen  looked  at  him,  startled.  "Is  there  really?  How 
— how  horrid !"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  you  mustn't  take  everything  Bubbles  says  as 
gospel  truth,"  he  observed,  lighting  a  cigarette.  "Still, 
she's  a  very  good  sort  in  her  way." 

As  he  looked  at  her  now  puzzled,  bewildered  face,  he 
realized  that  he  had  produced  on  Helen's  mind  exactly 
the  impression  he  had  meant  to  do.  If  Bubbles  said 
anything  about  him  which — well,  which  he  would  rather 
was  left  unsaid — Helen  would  take  no  notice  of  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  party  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  in  making 
friends  with  one  another.  Mr.  Tapster  had  already 
singled  out  Bubbles  Dunster  at  dinner  the  night  before. 
He  was  one  of  those  men — there  are  many  such — who, 
while  professing  to  despise  women,  yet  devote  a  great  deal 
of  not  very  profitable  thought  to  them,  and  to  their 
singular,  unexpected,  and  often  untoward  behaviour! 

As  for  Sir  Lyon  Dilsford,  he  was  amused  and  touched 
to  discover  that,  as  is  so  often  the  case  with  a  young 
and  generous-hearted  human  being,  Helen  Brabazon  had 
a  sincere,  if  somewhat  vague,  desire  to  use  her  money  for 
the  good  of  humanity.  He  was  also  touched  and  amusedi 
to  find  how  ignorant  she  was  of  life,  and  how  really 
child-like,  under  her  staid  and  sensible  appearance.  Of 
what  she  called  "society"  she  cherished  an  utter  con- 
tempt, convinced  that  it  consisted  of  frivolous  women  and 
idle  men — in  a  word,  of  heartless  coquettes  and  of  for- 
tune-hunters. To  Helen  Brabazon  the  world  of  men  and4 
women  was  still  all  white  and  all  black.  Sir  Lyon,  who, 
like  most  intelligent  men,  enjoyed  few  things  more  than 
playing  schoolmaster  to  an  attractive  young'woman,  found 
the  hour  that  he  and  Miss  Brabazon  spent  together  in  the 
library  of  Wyndfell  Hall  speed  by  all  too  quickly.  They 
were  both  sorry  when  the  gong  summoned  them  to 
luncheon. 

After  a  while  Varick  had  persuaded  Miss  Burnaby 

91 


92          FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

to  put  on  a  hat  and  jacket,  and  go  for  a  little  walk  alone 
with  him,  while  Blanche  Farrow  went  off  for  a  talk  with 
young  Donnington.  Bubbles  was  the  subject  of  their 
conversation,  and  different  as  were  the  ingenuous  young 
man  and  his  somewhat  cynical  and  worldly  companion, 
they  found  that  they  were  cordially  agreed  as  to  the  de- 
sirability of  Bubbles  abandoning  the  practices  which  had 
led  to  Mr.  Burnaby's  abrupt  departure  that  morning. 

"Of  course,  I  think  them  simply  an  extension  of  the 
extraordinary  thought-reading  gifts  she  had  as  a  small 
child,"  observed  Blanche. 

"I  wish  I  could  think  it  was  only  that — I'm  afraid  it's  a 
good  deal  more  than  mere  thought-reading,"  Donnington 
said  relucantly. 

Luncheon  was  a  pleasant,  lively  meal;  and  after  they 
had  all  had  coffee  and  cigarettes,  Bubbles  managed  to 
press  almost  the  whole  party  into  the  business  of  decorat- 
ing the  church.  Their  host  entered  into  the  scheme  with 
seeming  heartiness;  but  at  the  last  moment  he  and 
Blanche  Farrow  elected  to  stay  at  home  with  Miss  Bur- 
naby. 

The  younger  folk  started  off,  a  cheerful  party — James 
Tapster,  who,  as  the  others  realized  by  something  he  said, 
hadn't  been  into  a  church,  for  years  (he  said  he  hated 
weddings,  and,  on  principle,  never  attended  funerals) ; 
Sir  Lyon,  who*  was  always  at  anyone's  disposal  when  a 
bit  of  work  had  to  be  done;  Helen  Brabazon,  who  declared 
joyfully  that  she  had  always  longed  to  decorate  a  country 
church;  Bubbles  herself,  who  drove  the  donkey-cart  piled 
high  with  holly  and  with  mistletoe ;  and  Donnington,  who 
pulled  the  donkey  along. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         93 

Suffolk  is  a  county  of  noble  village  churches;  but  of 
the  lively  group  of  young  people  who  approached  it  on 
this  particular  Christmas  Eve,  only  Donnington  under- 
stood what  a  rare  and  perfect  ecclesiastical  building  stood 
before  them.  He  had  inherited  from  a  scholarly  father 
a  keen  interest  in  church  architecture,  and  he  had  read 
an  account  of  Darnaston  church  the  night  before  in  the 
book  which  dealt  with  Wyndfell  Hall  and  its  surround- 
ings. 

They  were  met  in  the  porch  by  the  bachelor  rector. 
"This  is  really  kind!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  it  will  be  of 
the  greatest  help,  for  I've  been  sent  for  to  a  neighbouring 
parish  unexpectedly,  and  I'm  afraid  that  I  can't  stop  and 
help  you." 

As  the  little  party  passed  through  into  the  church,  more 
than  one  of  them  was  impressed  by  its  lofty  beauty.  In- 
deed, the  word  which  rose  to  both  Sir  Lyon's  and  Don- 
nington's  lips  was  the  word  "impressive."  Neither  of 
them  had  ever  seen  so  impressive  a  country  church. 

When  lifted  from  the  donkey-cart  the  little  heap  of 
holly  and  other  greenery  looked  pitifully  small  lying  on 
the  stone  floor  of  the  central  aisle;  and  though  everyone 
worked  with  a  will,  there  wasn't  very  much  to  show  for 
it  when  Mr.  Tapster  declared,  in  a  cross  tone,  that  it 
must  be  getting  near  tea-time. 

"It's  much  more  nearly  finished  than  any  of  you  rea- 
lize," said  Bubbles  good-humouredly.  "I've  done  this  sort 
of  thing  every  year  since  I  was  quite  a  kid.  Bill  and  I 
will  come  down  after  tea  and  finish  it  up.  We  shan't 
want  you." 

"I  shouldn't  mind  coming  back,"  exclaimed  Helen 
Brabazon.  "I've  enjoyed  every  minute  of  the  time  here !" 


94          FRONT  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

But  Bubbles  declared  that  she  didn't  want  any  of  them 
but  Bill.  All  she  would  ask  the  other  men  to  do  would 
be  to  cut  down  some  trails  of  ivy.  She  explained  that 
she  always  avoided  the  use  of  ivy  unless,  as  in  this  case, 
quantity  rather  than  quality  was  required. 

So  they  all  tramped  cheerfully  back  to  Wyndfell  Hall. 

Tea  was  served  in  the  library,  and  the  host  looked  on 
with  benign  satisfaction  at  the  lively  scene,  though  Blanche 
Farrow  saw  his  face  change  and  stiffen,  when  his  pene- 
trating eyes  rested  in  turn  for  a  long  moment  on  Bubbles' 
now  laughing  little  face.  Perhaps  because  of  that  frown- 
ing look,  she  drew  the  girl  after  her  into  the  hall.  "Come 
in  here  for  a  moment,  Bubbles — I  want  to  speak  to  you. 
I've  just  heard  Helen  Brabazon  say  something  about  rais- 
ing the  ghost.  No  more  seances  while  I'm  in  command 
here — is  that  understood?" 

And  Bubbles  looked  up  with  an  injured,  innocent  ex- 
pression. "Of  course  it's  understood!  Though,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  Miss  Burnaby  has  already  asked  me  to 
give  her  a  private  sitting." 

"You  must  promise  me  to  refuse,  Bubbles "    Miss 

Farrow  spoke  very  decidedly.  "I  don't  know  how  you  do 
what  you  did  last  night,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't 
care — for  it's  none  of  my  business.  But  there  was  one 
moment  this  morning  when  I  feared  that  horrid  Mr. 
Burnaby  was  going  to  take  his  sister  and  his  niece  away — 
and  that  really  would  have  been  serious !" 

"Serious?"  queried  Bubbles.  "Why  serious,  Blanche? 
We  should  have  got  on  very  well  without  them." 

Her  aunt  looked  round.  They  were  quite  alone,  stand- 
ing, for  the  moment,  in  a  far  corner  of  the  great  room, 
near  the  finely  carved  confessional  box,  which  seemed, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         95 

even  to  Blanche  Farrow,  an  incongruous  addition  to  the 
furniture. 

"You're  very  much  mistaken,  Bubbles !  Lionel  would 
have  never  forgiven  you — or  me.  He  attaches  great  im- 
portance to  these  people;  Helen  Brabazon  was  a  great 
friend  of  his  poor  wife's."  She  hesitated,  and  then  said 
rather  awkwardly:  "I  sometimes  wish  you  liked  him 
better;  he's  a  good  friend,  Bubbles." 

"I  should  think  more  a  bad  enemy  than  a  good  friend," 
muttered  the  girl,  in  so  low  a  voice  that  her  aunt  hardly 
caught  the  ungracious  words. 

That  was  all — but  that  was  enough.  Blanche  told  her- 
self that  she  had  now  amply  fulfilled  the  promise  she  had 
made  to  Lionel  Varick  when  the  two  had  stood  speeding 
their  parting  guest  this  morning  from  Wyndfell  Hall. 
Even  quite  at  the  end  Mr.  Burnaby  had  been  barely  civil. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  there  had  been  some  kind  of 
conspiracy  against  him  the  night  before;  and  as  they 
watched  the  car  go  over  the  moat  bridge,  Varick  had  mut- 
tered :  "I  wouldn't  have  had  this  happen  for  a  thousand 
pounds!"  But  he  had  recovered  his  good  temper,  and 
even  apologized  to  Blanche  for  having  felt  so  much  put 
out  by  the  action  of  a  cantankerous  old  man. 

The  others  were  now  all  streaming  into  the  hall,  and 
Bubbles  would  hardly  allow  the  good-natured  Sir  Lyon 
and  Bill  Donnington  to  finish  their  cigarettes  before  she 
shooed  them  out  to  cut  down  some  ivy.  Varick  looked 
annoyed  when  he  heard  that  the  decorations  in  the  church 
were  not  yet  finished.  "Can't  we  bribe  some  of  the 
servants  to  go  down  and  do  them?"  he  asked.  "It  seems 
a  shame  that  you  and  Donnington  should  have  to  go  off 
there  again  in  the  cold  and  darkness." 


96          FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

But  in  her  own  way  Bubbles  had  almost  as  strong  a 
will  as  had  her  host.  She  always  knew  what  she  wanted 
to  do,  and  generally  managed  to  do  it.  "I  would  much 
rather  finish  the  work  myself,  and  I  think  Bill  would 
rather  come  too,"  she  said  coolly. 

So  once  more  the  little  donkey-cart  was  loaded  up  with 
holly  and  trails  of  ivy,  and  the  two  set  off  amid  the  good- 
natured  comments  and  chaff  of  the  rest  of  the  party. 
James  Tapster  alone  looked  sulky  and  annoyed.  He 
wondered  how  a  bright,  amusing  girl  like  Bubbles  Dunster 
could  stand  the  company  of  such  a  commonplace  young 
man  as  was  Bill  Donnington. 

As  they  reached  the  short  stretch  of  open  road  which 
separated  Wyndfell  Hall  from  the  church,  Bubbles  felt 
suddenly  how  cold  it  was. 

"I  think  we  shall  have  snow  to-morrow,"  said  Don- 
nington, looking  round  at  his  companion.  He  could  only 
just  see  her  little  face  in  the  twilight,  and  when  they  finally 
passed  through  the  porch  in  the  glorious  old  church,  it 
seemed,  for  the  first  few  moments,  pitch-dark. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  like  best  about  this  church/'  said 
the  girl  suddenly. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Donnington  simply,  "I  like  every- 
thing about  it." 

He  struck  a  match,  and  after  a  few  minutes  of  hard 
work,  managed  to  light  several  of  the  hanging  oil  lamps. 

"What  I  like  best,"  went  on  Bubbles,  "are  the  animals 
up  there." 

She  pointed  to  where,  just  under  the  cambered  oak 
roof,  there  ran  a  dado,  on  which,  carved  in  white  bas- 
relief,  lions,  hares,  stags,  dogs,  cats,  crocodiles,  and  birds, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         97 

formed  a  singular  procession,  which  was  continued  rpund 
the  nave  and  choir. 

"Yes,  I  like  them  too,"  assented  Donnington  slowly. 
"Though  somehow  I  did  feel  this  afternoon  that  they  were 
out  of  place  in  a  church." 

<flOh,  how  can  you  say  that?"  cried  the  girl.  "I  love 
to  think  of  them  here!  I'm  sure  that  at  night  they  leap 
joyfully  down,  and  skip  about  the  church,  praising  the 
Lord." 

"Bubbles!"  he  exclaimed  reprovingly. 

"Almost  any  animal,"  she  said,  with  a.  touch  of  serious- 
ness, "is  nicer,  taking  it  all  in  all,  than  almost  any  human 
being."  And  then  she  quoted  in  the  deep  throaty  voice 
which  was  one  of  her  greatest  charms : 

"A  robin  redbreast  in  a  cage 
Puts  all  Heaven  in  a  rage." 

"The  one  /  should  like  to  see  put  over  every  manger  is : 

"A  horse  misus'd  upon  the  road 

'  Calls  to   Heaven  for  human  blood," 

said  Donnington. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "and  Bill,  surely  the  best  of  all  is: 

"A  skylark  wounded  on  the  wing, 
A  cherubim  doth  cease  to  sing." 

Donnington  smiled.  "I  suppose  I'm  more  practical 
than  you  are,"  he  said.  "If  I  were  a  schoolmaster,  I'd 
have  inscribed  on  the  walls  of  every  classroom : 

"Kill  not  the  moth  or  butterfly, 
For  the  Last  Judgment  draweth  nigh." 

They  worked  very  hard  during  the  half -hour  that  fol- 
lowed, though  only  the  finishing  touches  remained  to  be 


9 8          FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

done.  Still,  it  meant  moving  a  ladder  about,  and  stretch- 
ing one's  arms  a  good  deal,  and  Bubbles  insisted  on  doing 
her  full  share  of  everything. 

/'Let's  rest  a  few  minutes,"  she  said  at  last,  and  leading 
the  way  up  the  central  aisle,  she  sat  down  wearily  in  one 
of  the  carved,  choir  stalls. 

Then  she  lifted  her  arms,  and  putting  her  hands  behind 
her  neck,  she  tipped  her  head  back. 
The  young  man  came  and  sat  down  in  the  next  stall. 
Bubbles  was  leaning  back  more  comfortably  now,  her  red 
cap  almost  off  her  head.  There  was  a  great  look  of  rest- 
fulness  on  her  pale,  sensitive  face. 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  felt  for  his ;  after  a  moment 
of  hesitation  he  slid  down  and  knelt  close  to  her. 

"Bubbles,"  he  whispered,  "my  darling — darling  Bub- 
bles. I  wish  that  here  and  now  you  would  make  up  your 

mind  to  give  up  everything "     He  stopped  speaking, 

and  bending,  kissed  her  hand. 

"Yes,"  she  said  dreamily.  "Give  up  everything,  Bill? 
Perhaps  I  will.  But  what  do  you  mean  by  everything?" 

There  was  a  self-pitying  note  in  her  low,  vibrant  voice. 
"You  know  it  is  given  to  people,  sometimes,  to  choose 
between  good  and  evil.  I'm  afraid" — she  leant  forward, 
and  passed  her  right  hand,  with  a  touch  of  tenderness  most 
unusual  with  her,  over  his  upturned  face  and  curly  hair — 
"I'm  a.fraid,  Bill,  that,  almost  without  knowing  it,  I 
chose  evil,  'Evil,  be  thou  my  good/  Isn't  that  what  the 
wicked  old  Satanists  used  to  say  ?" 

"Don't  you  say  it  too!"  he  exclaimed,  sharply  dis- 
tressed. 

"I  know  I  acted  stupidly — in  fact,  as  we're  in  a  church 
I  don't  mind  saying  I  acted  very  wrongly  last  night." 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP         99 

Bubbles  spoke  in  a  serious  tone — more  seriously,  in- 
deed, than  she  had  ever  yet  spoken  to  her  faithful,  long- 
suffering  friend.  "But  a  great  deal  of  what  happens  to 
me  and  round  me,  Bill,  I  can't  help — I  wish  I  could/*  she 
said  slowly. 

"I  don't  quite  undstand."  There  was  a  painful  choking 
feeling  in  his  throat.  "Try  and  tell  me  what  you  mean, 
Bubbles." 

"What  I  mean  is  clear  enough" — she  now  spoke  with  a 
touch  of  impatience.  "I  mean  that  wherever  I  am,  They 
come  too,  and  gather  about  me.  It  wasn't  my  fault  that 
that  horrible  Thing  appeared  to  Pegler  as  soon  as  I  en- 
tered the  house." 

"But  why  should  you  think  the  ghost  Pegler  saw — if 
she  did  see  it — had  anything  to  do  with  you  ?  Wyndfell 
Hall  has  been  haunted  for  over  a  hundred  years — so  the 
village  people  say." 

"Pegler  saw  nothing  till  I  came.  And  though  I  struggle 
against  the  belief,  and  though  I  very  seldom  admit  it,  even 
to  myself,  I  know  quite  well,  Bill,  that  I'm  never  really 
alone — never  free  of  Them  unless — unless,  Bill,  I'm  in  a 
holy  place,  when  they  don't  dare  to  come." 

There  was  a  tone  of  fear,  of  awful  dread,  in  her  voice. 
In  spite  of  himself  he  felt  impressed. 

"But  why  should  they  come  specially  round  you?"  he 
asked  uneasily. 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I'm  a  strong  medium. 
But  I'll  tell  you,  Bill,  something  which  I've  never  told 
you  before." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  strange  sinking  of  the  heart. 
"What's  that,  Bubbles?" 

"You  know  that   Persian  magician,   or  Wise  Man, 


ioo       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

whom  certain  people  in  London  went  cracked  over  last 
spring?" 

"The  man  you  would  go  and  see?" 
I    ''Yes,  of  course  I  mean  that  man.    Well,  when  he  saw 
me  he  made  his  interpreter  tell  me  that  he  had  a  special 
message  for  me " 

Bubbles  was  leaning  forward  now,  her  hands  resting 
on  Bill's  shoulders.  "I  wonder  if  I  ought  to  tell  you  all 
he  said,"  she  whispered.  "Perhaps  I  ought  to  keep  it 
secret." 

"Of  course  you  ought  to  tell  me!  What  was  the  mes- 
sage?" 

"He  said  that  I  had  rent  the  veil,  wilfully,  and  that  I 
was  often  surrounded  by  the  evil  demons  who  had  come 
rushing  through;  that  only  by  fasting  and  praying  could 
I  hope  to  drive  them  back,  and  close  the  rent  which  I  had 
made." 

"I  shouldn't  allow  myself  to  think  too  much  of  what 
he  said,"  said  Bill  hoarsely.  "And  yet — and  yet,  Bub- 
bles? There  may  have  been  something  in  it ." 

He  spoke  very  earnestly,  poor  boy. 

"Of  course  there  was  a  great  deal  in  it.  But  they're  not 
always  demons,"  she  said  slowly.  "Now,  for  instance,  as 
I  sit  here,  where  good,  simple  people  have  been  praying 
together  for  hundreds  of  years,  the  atmosphere  is  kind 
and  holy,  not  wicked  and  malignant,  as  it  was  last  night." 

She  waited  a  moment,  then  began  again,  "I  remember 
going  into  a  cottage  not  long  ago,  where  an  old  man  holds 
a  prayer  meeting  every  Wednesday  evening — he's  a  Dis- 
senter— you  know  the  sort  of  man  I  mean?  Well,  I  felt 
extraordinarily  comforted,  and  left  alone." 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  low  whisper.    "I  suppose" — there 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       joi 

came  a  little  catch  in  her  voice— " I  suppose,  Bill,  that  I. 
am  what  people  used  to  call  'possessed.-''  Irv  p;d-  'd&yt'  I 
should  have  been  burnt  as  a  witch.  Sometimes  I  feel  as 
if  a  battle  were  going  on  round  me  and  for  me — a  battle 
between  good  and  evil  spirits.  That  was  what  I  was  feel- 
ing last  night,  before  you  came  up.  I  couldn't  rest — I 
couldn't  stay  in  bed.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  move  about  to 
avoid " 

"To  avoid  what?"  he  asked. 

" Their  clutchings." 

Her  voice  dropped.  "I've  been  in  old  houses  where  I 
seemed  to  know  everything  about  every  ghost!" — she 
tried  to  smile.  "People  don't  change  when  they  what  we 
call  die.  If  they're  dull  and  stupid,  they  remain  dull  and 
stupid.  But  here  in  Wyndfell  Hall,  I'm  frightened.  I'm 
frightened  of  Varick — I  feel  as  if  there  were  something 
secret,  secret  and  sinister,  about  him.  I  seem  to  hear 
the  words,  'Beware — beware,'  when  he  is  standing  by 
me.  What  do  you  think  about  him,  Bill?  There  are  a 
lot  of  lying  spirits  about." 

"I  haven't  thought  much  about  Varick  one  way  or  the 
other,"  said  Donnington  reluctantly.  "But  I  should  have 
have  thought  he  was  a  good  chap.  See  how  fond  Miss 
Farrow  is  of  him?" 

"That  doesn't  mean  much,"  she  said  dreamily. 
"Blanche  doesn't  know  anything  about  human  nature — • 
she  only  thinks  she  does.  She's  no  spiritual  vision  left  at 
all." 

"I'm  sorry  you  have  that  feeling  about  Varick,"  said 
Bill  uncomfortably. 

"Varick  is  never  alone,"  said  Bubbles  slowly.  "When 
I  first  arrived,  and  he  came  out  to  the  porch  to  meet  me, 


102        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

there  was  Something  standing  by  him,  which  looked  so 
reai,'  Bill/ 'that  X  thought  it  really  was  a  woman  of  flesh 
and  blood.  I  nearly  said  to  him,  Who's  that  ?  Introduce 


me.' 


"D'you  mean  you  think  you  actually  see  spirits,  even 
when  you're  not  setting  out  to  do  so,  Bubbles?"  asked 
Bill. 

She  had  never  said  that  to  him  before.  But  then  this 
was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  talked  to  him  as  freely 
and  as  frankly  as  she  was  talking  now. 

"Yes,  that's  exactly  what  I  do  mean,"  she  said.  "It's  a 
sort  of  power  that  grows — and  oh,  Bill,  I'd  do  anything 
in  the  world  to  get  rid  of  it!  But  this  woman  whom  I 
saw  standing  by  Lionel  Varick  in  the  porch  was  not  a 
spirit.  She  was  an  astral  body;  that  is,  she  was  alive 
somewhere  else :  it  was  her  thoughts — her  vengeful,  ma- 
licious thoughts — which  brought  her  here." 

"I  can't  believe  that !"  he  exclaimed. 

"It's  true,  Bill.  Though  I  never  saw  an  astral  body  be- 
fore, I  knew  that  Thing  to  be  one — as  soon  as  I  realized 
it  wasn't  a  real  woman  standing  there."  What  was  she 
like?"  he  asked,  impressed  against  his  will. 

"An  ugly,  commonplace-looking  woman.  But  she  had 
a  powerful,  determined  sort  of  face,  and  she  was  staring 
up  at  him  with  a  horrible  expression :  I  could  see  that  she 
hated  him,  and  wished  him  ill " 

"Have  you  ever  seen  the — the  Thing  again?" 

Yes,  of  course  I  have.  The  same  astral  body  was  there 
last  night.  It  was  from  her  that  his  mother  was  trying 
to  shield  him." 

"But  you've  never  seen  this  astral  body — as  you  call  it 
— excepting  on  those  two  occasions?" 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       103 

Bubbles  hesitated.  "I've  only  seen  her  clearly  twice. 
But  during  the  week  that  I've  been  here,  I've  often  felt 
that  she  was  close  to  Lionel  Varick." 

"And  what's  your  theory  about  her?  Why  does  she 
hate  him,  I  mean?" 

"My  theory ?"  the  girl  hesitated  again.  "I  should 

think  it's  someone  he  was  fond  of  when  he  was  a  young 
man,  and  whom  he  treated  badly.  She's  ugly  enough 
now — but  then  women  do  change  so." 

"Bubbles,"  he  uttered  her  name  very  seriously. 

"Yes,  Bill?" 

"Surely  you  can  stop  yourself  seeing  these  kind  of 
strange,  dreadful,  unnatural  things?" 

Bubbles  did  not  answer  all  at  once.  And  then  she  said : 
"Yes — and  no,  Bill!  It  sometimes  happens  that  I  see 
what  you  would  call  a  ghost  without  wishing  to  see  it ;  yet 
I  confess  that  sometimes  I  could  stop  myself.  But  it  ex- 
cites and  stimulates  me !  I  feel  a  sort  of  longing  to  be  in 
touch  with  what  no  one  else  is  in  touch  with.  But  I'll  tell 
you  one  thing" — she  was  pressing  up  closer  to  him  now, 
and  his  heart  was  beating.  ...  If  only  this  enchanted 
hour  could  go  on — if  only  Bubbles  would  continue  in  this 
gentle,  sincere,  confiding  mood — 

"Yes,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "what  will  you  tell  me?" 

"I  never  see  anything  bad  when  I'm  with  you.  I  think 
I  saw  your  Guardian  Angel  the  other  day,  Bill." 

He  tried  to  laugh. 

"Indeed  I  did!  Though  you  are  so  tiresome  and  prig- 
gish," she  whispered,  "though  often,  as  you  know,  I 
should  like  to  shake  you,  still,  I  know  that  you've  chosen 
the  good  way;  that's  why  our  ways  lie  so  apart,  dear- 
est  " 


;i<H   FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

As  she  uttered  the  strange  words,  she  had  slid  down, 
and  was  now  lying  in  his  arms,  her  face  turned  up  to  his 
in  the  dim  light.  .  .  . 

Their  ways  apart?  Ah,  no  I  He  caught  her  fiercely 
to  his  heart,  and  for  the  first  time  their  lips  met  in  a 
long,  clinging  kiss. 

Then,  all  at  once,  he  got  up  and  pulled  Bubbles  on  to 
her  feet.  "We  must  be  going  back  to  the  house,"  he 
said,  speaking  with  a  touch  of  hardness  and  decision 
which  was  rare  in  his  dealings  with  the  girl. 

"Watch  with  me,  and  pray  for  me,"  she  muttered — 
and  then :  "You  don't  know  what  a  comfort  you  are  to 
me,  Bill." 

A  wild  wish  suddenly  possessed  him  to  turn  and  im- 
plore her,  now  that  she  was  in  this  strange,  gentle,  yield- 
ing mood,  to  marry  him  at  once — to  become  his  wife  in 
secret,  under  any  conditions  that  seemed  good  to  her! 
But  he  checked  the  impulse,  drove  it  back,  tie  felt  that 
he  would  be  taking  a  mean  advantage  if  he  did  that  now. 
She  had  once  said  to  him:  "I  must  marry  a  rich  man, 
Bill.  I  should  make  any  poor  man  miserable." 

He  had  never  forgotten  that,  nor  forgiven  her  for  say- 
ing it — though  he  had  never  believed  that  it  was  true. 

Almost  as  if  she  was  reading  into  his  mind,  Bubbles 
said  wistfully :  "You  won't  leave  off  caring  for  me,  Bill  ? 

Not  even  if  I  marry  somebody  else?  Not  even ?" 

She  laughed  nervously,  and  her  laugh,  to  Donnington  a 
horrible  laugh,  echoed  through  the  dimly  lit  church.  "Not 
even,"  she  repeated,  "if  I  bring  myself  to  marry  Mr. 
Tapster?" 

He  seized  her  roughly  by  the  arm.  "What  d'you  mean, 
Bubbles  ?"  he  asked  sternly. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP        105 

"Don't  do  that!  You  hurt  me — I  was  only  joking," 
she  said,  shrinking  back.  "But  you  are  really  too  simple, 
Bill.  Didn't  it  occur  to  you  that  Mr.  Tapster  had  been 
asked  here  for  me?" 

"For  you?"  He  uttered  the  words  mechanically.  He 
understood  now  why  men  sometimes  murder  their  sweet- 
hearts— for  no  apparent  motive. 

"He's  not  a  bad  sort.  It  isn't  his  fault  that  he's  so 
repulsive.  It  wouldn't  be  fair  if  he  was  as  rich  as  that, 
and  good-looking,  and  amiable,  and  agreeable,  as  well — 
would  it?" 

They  were  walking  down  the  church,  and  perhaps  Bub- 
bles caught  a  glimpse  into  his  heart:  "I'm  a  beast,"  she 
exclaimed.  "A  beast  to  have  spoiled  our  time  together 
in  this  dear  old  church  by  saying  that  to  you  about  Mr. 
Tapster.  Try  and  forget  it,  Bill!" 

He  made  no  answer.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirlwind 
of  wrath,  of  suspicion,  of  anger,  of  sick  jealousy.  This 
was  the  real  danger — not  all  the  nonense  that  Bubbles 
talked  about  her  power  of  raising  ghosts,  and  of  being 
haunted  by  unquiet  spirits.  The  real  danger  the  girl  was 
in  now  was  that  of  being  persuaded  into  marrying  that 
loathsome  Tapster — for'liis  money. 

He  left  her  near  the  door  while  he  went  back  to  put 
out  the  lights.  Then  he  groped  his  way  to  where  she 
was  standing,  waiting  for  him.  In  the  darkness  he  looked 
for,  found,  and  lifted,  the  heavy  latch.  Together  they 
began  pacing  down  the  path  between  the  graves  in  the 
churchyard,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  he  put  his  hand 
on  her  arm :  "What's  that  ?  Hark !"  he  whispered. 

He  seemed  to  hear  issuing  from  the  grand  old  church 
a  confused,  musical  medley  of  sounds — a  bleating,  a 


106       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

neighing,  a  lowing,  even  a  faint  trumpeting,  all  mingling 
together  and  forming  a  strange,  not  unmelodious  har- 
mony. 

"D'you  hear  anything,  Bubbles?"  he  asked,  his  heart 
beating,  his  face,  in  the  darkness,  all  aglow. 

"No,  nothing,"  she  answered  back,  surprised.  "We 
must  hurry,  Bill.  We're  late  as  it  is." 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  had  been  Bubbles'  happy  idea  that  the  children  of 
the  tiny  hamlet  which  lay  half-a-mile  from  Wyndfell 
Hall,  should  have  a  Christmas  tree.  Hers,  also,  that  the 
treat  for  the  children  was  to  be  combined  with  the  dis- 
tribution of  a  certain  amount  of  coal  and  of  other  creature 
comforts  to  -the  older  folk. 

All  the  arrangements  with  regard  to  this  double  func- 
tion had  been  made  before  the  party  at  Wyndfell  Hall 
had  been  gathered  together.  But  still,  there  were  all  sorts 
of  last  things  to  be  thought  of,  and  Lionel  Varick  and 
Bubbles  became  quite  chummy  over  the  affair. 

Blanche  Farrow  was  secretly  amused  to  note  with  what 
zest  her  friend  threw  himself  into  the  role  of  country 
squire.  She  thought  it  a  trifle  absurd,  the  more  so  that, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  people  of  Wyndfell  Green  were 
not  his  tenants,  for  he  had  only  a  life  interest  in  the  house 
itself.  But  Varick  was  determined  to  have  a  good,  old- 
fashioned  country  Christmas;  and  he  was  seconded  in 
his  desire  not  only  by  Bubbles,  but  by  Helen  Brabazon, 
who  entered  into  everything  with  an  almost  childish  eager- 
ness. Indeed,  the  doings  on  Christmas  Day  brought  her 
and  Bubbles  together,  too.  They  began  calling  each  other 
by  their  Christian  names,  and  soon  the  simple-minded 
heiress  became  as  if  bewitched  by  the  other  girl. 

"She's  a  wonderful  creature/'  she  confided  to  that  same 
wonderful  girl's  aunt.  "I've  never  known  anyone  in  the 

107 


;io8   FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

least  like  Bubbles !  At  first  I  confess  I  thought  her  very 
odd — she  almost  repelled  me.  But  now  I  can  see  what  a 
kind,  good  heart  she  has,  and  I  do  hope  she'll  let  me  be 
her  friend." 

"I  think  you  would  be  a  very  good  friend  for  Bub- 
bles," answered  Blanche  pleasantly.  "You're  quite  right 
as  to  one  thing,  Miss  Brabazon — she  has  a  very  kind, 
warm  heart.  She  loves  to  give  people  pleasure.  She's 
quite  delightful  with  children." 

The  speaker  felt  that  it  would  indeed  be  a  good  thing  if 
Bubbles  could  attach  herself  to  such  a  simple  yet  sensible 
friend  as  was  this  enormously  rich  girl.  "And  if  you 
really  like  Bubbles,"  went  on  Blanche  Farrow  deliberate- 
ly, "then  I  should  like  just  to  tell  you  one  or  two  things 
about  her." 

Helen  became  all  eager,  pleased  attention.  "Yes?"  she 
exclaimed.  "I  wish  you  would!  Bubbles  interests  me 
more  than  anyone  I  ever  met." 

"I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  and  Bubbles'  father  very 
much  regret  her  going  in  for  all  that — that  occultism, 
I  believe  it's  called." 

"But  you  and  Mr.  Varick  both  think  it's  only  thought- 
reading,"  said  Helen  quickly. 

Blanche  felt  rather  surprised.  It  was  acute  and  clever 
of  the  girl  to  have  said  that.  But  no  doubt  Miss  Burnaby 
had  repeated  their  conversation. 

"Yes ;  I  personally  think  it's  only  thought-reading.  Still, 
it's  thought-reading  carried  very  far.  The  kind  of  power 
Bubbles  showed  the  night  before  last  seems  to  me  partly 
hypnotic,  and  that's  why  I  disapprove  of  it  so  strongly." 

"I  agree,"  said  Helen  thoughtfully.  "It  was  much 
more  than  ordinary  thought-reading.  And  I  suppose  that 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       109 

it's  true  that  she  thought  she  saw  the — the  spirits  she 
described  so  wonderfully?" 

"I  doubt  if  even  she  thought  she  actually  saw  them. 
I  think  she  only  perceived  each  image  in  the  mind  of 
the  person  to  whom  she  was  speaking." 

"I  suppose,"  asked  Helen  hesitatingly,  "that  you 
haven't  the  slightest  belief  in  ghosts,  Miss  Farrow?" 

"No,  I  haven't  the  slightest  belief  in  ghosts,"  Blanche 
smiled.  "But  I  do  believe  that  if  a  person  thinks  suffi- 
ciently hard  about  it,  he  or  she  can  almost  evolve  the 
figure  of  a  ghost.  I  think  that's  what  happened  to  my 
maid  the  other  night.  Pegler's  a  most  sensible  person, 
yet  she's  quite  convinced  that  she  saw  the  ghost  of  the 
woman  who  is  believed  to  have  killed  her  little  step-son 
in  the  room  next  to  that  in  which  I  am  now  sleep- 
ing." 

And  then  as  she  saw  a  rather  peculiar  look  flit  over 
her  companion's  face,  she  added  quickly:  "D'you  think 
that  you  have  seen  anything  since  you've  been  here,  Miss 
Brabazon?" 

Helen  hesitated.  "No,"  she  said.  "I  haven't  exactly 
seen  anything.  But — well,  the  truth  is,  Miss  Farrow, 
that  I  do  feel  sometimes  as  if  Wyndfell  Hall  was  haunted 
by  the  spirit  of  my  poor  friend  Milly,  Mr.  Varick's  wife. 
Perhaps  I  feel  as  I  do  because,  of  course,  I  know  that 
this  strange  and  b^iutiful  old  house  was  once  her  home. 
It's  pathetic,  isn't  ft,  to  see  how  very  litlte  remains  of  her 
here?  One  might,  indeed,  say  that  nothing  remains  of 
her  at  all!  I  haven't  even  been  able  to  find  out  which 
was  her  room;  and  I've  often  wondered  in  the  last  two 
days  whether  she  generally  sat  in  the  hall  or  in  that  lovely 
little  drawing-room." 


i  io       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"I  can  tell  you  one  thing/'  said  Blanche  rather  shortly, 
"that  is  that  there  is  a  room  in  this  house  called  'the 
schoolroom.'  It's  between  the  dining-room  and  the  serv- 
ants' offices.  I  believe  it  was  there  that  Miss  Fauncey,  as 
the  people  about  here  still  call  her,  used  to  do  her  lessons, 
with  a  rather  disagreeable  woman  rejoicing  in  the  extra- 
ordinary name  of  Pigchalke,  who  lived  on  with  her  till 
she  married." 

"That  horrible,  horrible  woman!"  exclaimed  Helen. 
"Of  course  I  know  about  her.  She  adored  poor  Milly. 
But  she  was  an  awful  tyrant  to  her  all  the  same.  She 
actually  wrote  to  me  some  time  ago.  It  was  such  an 
odd  letter — quite  a  mad  letter,  in  fact.  It  struck  me  as 
so  queer  that  before  answering  it  I  sent  it  on  to  Mr. 
Varick.  She  wanted  to  see  me,  to  talk  to  me  about  poor 
Milly's  last  illness.  She  has  a  kind  of  crazy  hatred  of  Mr. 
Varick.  Of  course  I  got  out  of  seeing  her.  Luckily  we 
were  just  starting  for  Strathpeffer.  I  put  her  off — I 
didn't  actually  refuse.  I  said  I  couldn't  see  her  then, 
but  that  I  would  write  to  her  later." 

"Lionel  mentioned  her  to  me  the  other  day.  He  al- 
lows her  a  hundred  a  year,"  said  Blanche  indifferently. 

"How  very  good  of  him !"  in  a  very  different  tone  of 
voice  she  said  musingly :  "I  have  sometimes  wondered  if 
the  room  I'm  sleeping  in  now  was  that  in  which  Milly 
slept  as  a  girl.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  she  was  close  to 
me,  trying  to  speak  to  me — it's  a  most  queer,  uncanny, 

horrid  kind  of  feeling!" 

*  *  *  *  * 

Blanche  and  Bubbles  knew  from  experience  that  Christ* 
mas  Day  in  the  country  is  not  invariably  a  pleasant  day; 
but  they  had  thought  out  every  arrangement  to  make  it 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   in 

"go"  as  well  as  was  possible.  They  were  all  to  have  a 
sort  of  early  tea,  and  then  those  who  felt  like  it  would 
proceed  to  the  village  schoolroom,  and  help  with  the 
Christmas  Treat. 

An  important  feature  of  the  proceedings  was  to  be  a 
short  speech  by  Lionel  Varick.  Blanche  had  found,  to 
her  surprise  and  amusement,  that  he  had  set  his  heart  on 
making  it.  He  wanted  to  get  into  touch  with  his  poorer 
neighbours — not  only  in  a  material  sense,  by  distributing 
gifts  of  beef  and  blankets;  that  he  had  already  arranged 
to  do — but  in  a  closer,  more  human  sense.  No  one  she 
had  ever  known  desired  more  ardently  to  be  liked  than 
did  the  new  owner  of  Wyndfell  Hall.  - 

The  programme  was  carried  out  to  the  letter.  They 
all  drank  a  cup  of  tea  standing  in  the  hall  when  dressed 
ready  for  their  expedition.  Everyone  was  happy,  every- 
one was  in  a  good  humour — excepting,  perhaps,  Bill  Don- 
nington.  The  few  words  Bubbles  had  said  concerning  Mr. 
Tapster  had  frightened,  as  well  as  angered  him.  He 
watched  the  unattractive  millionaire  with  jealous  eyes. 
It  was  only  too  clear  that  Bubbles  had  fascinated  James 
Tapster,  as  she  generally  did  all  dull  and  unimaginative 
people.  But  Donnington,  perforce,  had  to  keep  his  jealous 
feelings  to  himself;  and  after  they  had  all  reached  the 
school-room  of  the  pretty,  picturesque  little  village,  he 
found  he  had  far  too  much  to  do  in  helping  to  serve  the 
hungry  children  and  their  parents  with  the  feast  provided 
for  them,  to  have  time  for  private  feelings  of  fear,  jeal- 
ousy and  pain. 

A  small  platform  had  been  erected  across  one  end  of 
the  room.  But  the  programme  of  the  proceedings  which 
were  to  take  place  thereon  only  contained  two  items.  The 


ii2        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

first  of  these  took  most  of  the  Wyndfell  Hall  house-party 
completely  by  surprise;  for  Bubbles  and  her  aunt  had 
kept  their  secret  well. 

Tables  had  been  pushed  aside,  benches  put  end  to  end ; 
the  whole  audience,  with  Lionel  Varick's  guests  in  front, 
were  seated,  when  suddenly  there  leapt  on  to  the  plat- 
form the  strangest  and  most  fantastic-looking  little  figure 
imaginable ! 

For  a  moment  no  one,  except  Bill  Donnington,  guessed 
who  or  what  the  figure  was.  There  came  a  great  clap- 
ping of  hands  and  stamping  of  feet — for,  of  course,  it 
was  Bubbles !  Bubbles  dressed  up  as  a  witch — red  cloak, 
high  peaked  hat,  short  multi-coloured  skirt,  high  boots  and 
broom-stick — all  complete ! 

When  the  applause  had  died  down,  she  recited  a  quaint 
little  poem  of  her  own  composition,  wishing  all  there  pres- 
ent the  best  of  luck  in  the  coming  year.  And  then  she 
executed  a  kind  of  fantastic  pas  seul,  skimming  hither  and 
thither  across  the  tiny  stage. 

Everyone  watched  her  breathlessly:  Donnington  with 
mingled  admiration,  love,  and  jealous  disapproval;  James 
Tapster  with  a  feeling  that  perhaps  the  time  had  come 
for  him  to  allow  himself  to  be  "caught"  at  last;  Helen, 
Brabazon  with  wide-eyed,  kindly  envy  of  the  other  girl's 
cleverness;  Varick  with  a  queer  feeling  of  growing  sus- 
picion and  dislike. 

Finally,  Bubbles  waved  her  broom-stick,  and  more  than 
one  of  those  present  imagined  that  they  saw  the  light, 
airy-looking  little  figure  flying  across  the  hall,  and  so  out 
of  a  window . 

The  whole  performance  did  not  last  five  minutes,  and 
yet  few  of  those  who  were  present  ever  forgot  it.  It 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP        113 

was  so  strange,  so  uncanny,  so  vivid.  Bill  Donnington 
heard  one  of  the  village  women  behind  him  say :  "There 
now!  Did  you  ever  see  the  like?  She  was  the  sort  they 
burnt  in  the  old  days,  and  I  don't  wonder,  either." 

After  this  exciting  performance  the  appearance  of  "the 
squire,"  as  some  of  the  village  people  were  already  begin- 
ning to  call  him,  did  not  produce,  perhaps,  quite  the  sen- 
sation it  might  have  done  had  he  been  the  first  instead  of 
the  second  item  on  the  programme.  But  as  he  stood  there, 
a  fine  figure  of  a  man,  his  keen,  good-looking  face  lit  up 
with  a  very  agreeable  expression  of  kindliness  and  of 
good-will,  a  wave  of  appreciation  seemed  to  surge  towards 
him  from  the  body  of  the  hall. 

Poor  Milly's  father  had  been  the  sort  of  landowner — 
to  the  honour  of  England  be  it  said  the  species  has  ever 
been  comparatively  rare — who  regarded  his  tenants  as  of 
less  interest  than  the  livestock  on  his  home  farm.  What 
he  had  done  for  them  he  had  done  grudgingly ;  but  it  was 
even  now  clear  to  them  all  that  in  the  new  squire  they  had 
a  very  different  kind  of  gentleman. 

Varick  was  moved  and  touched — far  more  so  than  any 
of  those  present  realized.  The  scene  before  him — this 
humble  little  school-room,  and  the  simple  people  standing 
there — meant  to  him  the  fulfilment  of  a  life-long  dream. 
And  that  was  not  all.  As  he  was  hesitating  for  his  first 
word,  his  eyes  rested  on  the  front  bench  of  his  audience, 
and  he  saw  Helen  Brabazon's  eager,  guileless  face,  up- 
turned to  his,  full  of  interest  and  sympathy. 

He  also  felt  himself  in  touch  with  the  others  there. 
Blanche,  looking  her  own  intelligent,  dignified,  pleasant 
self,  was  a  goodly  sight.  Sir  Lyon  Dilsford,  too,  was  in 
the  picture;  but  Varick  felt  a  sudden  pang  of  sympathy 


ii4        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

for  the  landless  baronet.  Sir  Lyon  would  have  made  such 
a  good,  conscientious  squire ;  he  was  the  kind  of  man  who 
would  have  helped  the  boys  to  get  on  in  the  world — the 
girls,  if  need  be,  to  make  happy  marriages.  James  Tap- 
ster looked  rather  out  of  it  all;  he  looked  his  apathetic, 
sulky  self — a  man  whom  nothing  would  ever  galvanize 
into  real  good-fellowship.  How  could  so  intelligent  a 
woman  as  Blanche  think  that  any  money  could  compensate 
a  clever,  high-spirited  girl  like  Bubbles  for  marrying  a 
James  Tapster?  Varick  was  glad  Bubbles  was  not  "in 
front. "  She  was  probably  divesting  herself  of  that  ex- 
traordinary witch  costume  of  hers  behind  the  little  cur- 
tained aperture  to  his  left. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  he  realized  that  Bubbles  was 
among  his  audience  after  all!  She  was  sitting  by 
herself,  on  a  little  stool  just  below  the  platform.  He  sud- 
denly saw  her  head,  with  its  shock  of  dark-brown  hair, 
and  there  came  over  him  a  slight  feeling  of  discomfort. 
Bubbles  had  worked  like  a  Trojan.  All  this  could  not 
have  happened  but  for  her;  and  yet — and  yet  Varick 
again  told  himself  that  he  could  very  well  have  dispensed 
with  Bubbles  from  his  Christmas  house  party.  There  was 
growing  up,  in  his  dark,  secretive  heart,  an  unreasoning, 
violent  dislike  to  the  girl. 

All  these  disconnected  thoughts  flashed  through  his 
mind  in  something  under  half-a-minute,  and  then  Varick 
made  his  pleasant  little  speech,  welcoming  the  people  there, 
and  saying  he  hoped  there  would  ensue  a  long  and  pleas- 
ant connection  between  them. 

There  was  a  great  deal  more  stamping  of  feet  and  hand- 
clapping,  and  then  gradually  the  company,  gentle  and 
simple,  dispersed. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       115 

Miss  Farrow  still  had  long  and  luxuriant  hair,  and 
perhaps  the  pleasantest  half-hour  in  each  day  had  come 
to  be  that  half-hour  just  before  she  dressed  for  dinner, 
when  Pegler,  with  gentle,  skilful  fingers,  brushed  and 
combed  her  mistress's  beautiful  tresses,  and  finally  dressed 
them  to  the  best  advantage. 

On  Christmas  night  this  daily  ceremony  had  been  put 
off  till  Miss  Farrow's  bed-time,  when,  after  a  quiet,  short 
evening,  the  party  had  broken  up  on  the  happiest  terms 
with  one  another. 

As  Blanche  sat  down,  and  her  maid  began  taking  the 
hairpins  out  of  her  hair,  she  told  herself  with  a  feeling  of 
gratification  that  this  had  been  one  of  the  pleasantest 
Christmas  days  she  had  ever  spent.  Everything  had  gone 
off  so  well,  and  she  could  see  that  Varick  had  enjoyed 
every  moment  of  it,  from  his  surprise  distribution  of 
little  gifts  to  his  guests  at  breakfast,  to  the  last  warm, 
grateful  hand-shake  on  the  landing  outside  her  door. 

"Were  you  in  the  school-room,  Pegler?"  she  asked 
kindly.  "It  was  really  rather  charming,  wasn't  it?  Every- 
one happy — the  children  and  the  old  people  especially. 
And  they  all  so  enjoyed  Miss  Bubbles'  dressing  up  as  a 
witch!" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Pegler  grudgingly.  "It  was  all  very 
nice,  ma'am,  in  a  way,  and,  as  you  say,  it  all  went  off  very 
well.  But  there's  a  queer  rumour  got  about  already, 
ma'am." 

"A  queer  rumour?    What  d'you  mean,  Pegler?" 

"Quite  a  number  of  the  village  folk  say  that  Mr. 

Varick's  late  lady,  the  one  who  used  to  live  here •" 

Pegler  stopped  speaking  suddenly,  and  went  on  brushing 
her  mistress's  hair  more  vigorously. 


ii6       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"Yes,  Pegler?" — Miss  Farrow  spoke  with  a  touch  of 
impatience.  "What  about  Mrs.  Lionel  Varick?" 

"Well,  ma'am,  I  don't  suppose  you'll  credit  it,  but 
quite  a  number  of  them  do  say  that  her  sperrit  was  there 
during  this  afternoon.  One  woman  I  spoke  to,  who  was 
school-room  maid  here  a  matter  of  twenty  years  back, 
said  she  saw  her  as  clear  as  clear,  up  on  the  platform, 
wearing  the  sort  of  grey  dress  she  used  to  wear  when  she 
was  a  girl,  ma'am,  when  her  father  was  still  alive.  None 
of  the  men  seem  to  have  seen  her — but  quite  a  number  of 
the  women  did.  The  post-mistress  says  sjie  could  have 
sworn  to  her  anywhere." 

"What  absolute  nonsense!" 

Blanche  felt  shocked  as  well  as  vexed. 

"It  was  when  Mr.  Varick  was  making  that  speech  of 
his,"  said  Pegler  slowly.  "If  you'll  pardon  me,  ma'am, 
for  saying  so,  it  don't  seem  nonsense  to  me.  After  what 
I've  seen  myself,  I  can  believe  anything.  Seeing  is  be- 
lieving, ma'am." 

"People's  eyes  very  often  betray  them,  Pegler.  Haven't 
you  sometimes  looked  at  a  thing  and  thought  it  some- 
thing quite  different  from  what  it  really  was?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  acknowledged  Pegler  reluctantly.  "And 
of  course,  the  lighting  was  very  bad.  Some  of  the  people 
hope  that  Mr.  Varick's  going  to  bring  electric  light  into 
the  village — d'you  think  he'll  do  that,  ma'am?" 

"No,"  said  Miss  Farrow  decidedly.  "I  shouldn't  think 
there's  a  hope  of  it.  The  village  doesn't  really  belong  to 
him,  Pegler.  It  was  wonderfully  kind  of  him  to  give  what 
he  did  give  to-day,  to  a  lot  of  people  with  whom  he  has 
really  nothing  to  do  at  all." 

And  then,  after  her  maid  had  gone,  Blanche  lay  in  bed, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP    .    117 

and  stared  into  the  still  bright  fire.  Her  brain  seemed 
abnormally  active,  and  she  found  it  impossible  to  go 
to  sleep.  What  a  curious,  uncanny,  uncomfortable  story 
— that  of  "poor  Milly's"  ghost  appearing  on  the  little  plat- 
form of  the  village  school-room !  There  seems  no  meas- 
ure, even  in  these  enlightened  days,  to  what  people  will  say 
and  believe. 

And  then  there  flashed  across  her  a  recollection  of  the 
fact  that  Bubbles  had  been  there,  sitting  just  below  Lionel 
Varick.  Strange,  half-forgotten  stories  of  Indian  magic 
— of  a  man  hung  up  in  chains  padlocked  by  British  offi- 
cers, and  then,  a  moment  later,  that  same  man,  freed, 
standing  in  their  midst,  the  chains  rattling  together,  empty 
— floated  through  Blanche  Farrow's  mind.  Was  it  possi- 
ble that  Bubbles  possessed  uncanny  powers — powers 
which  had  something  to  do  with  the  immemorial  magic  of 
the  immemorial  East  ? 

Blanche  had  once  heard  the  phenomenon  of  the  vanish- 
ing rope  trick  discussed  at  some  length  between  a  number 
of  clever  people.  She  had  paid  very  little  attention  to 
what  had  been  said  at  the  time,  but  she  now  strained 
her  memory  to  recapture  the  sense  of  the  words  which 
had  been  uttered.  One  of  the  men  present,  a  distinguished 
scientist,  had  actually  seen  the  trick  done.  He  had  seen  an 
Indian  swarm  up  the  rope  and  disappear — into  thin  air! 
What  had  he  called  it  ?  Collective  hypnotism  ?  Yes,  that 
was  the  expression  he  had  used.  Some  such  power  Bub- 
bles certainly  possessed,  and  perhaps  to-day  she  had 
chosen  to  exercise  it  by  recalling  to  the  minds  of  those 
simple  village  folk  the  half-forgotten  figure  of  the  one- 
time mistress  of  Wyndfell  Hall.  If  she  had  really  done 


n8        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

this,  Bubbles  had  played  an  ungrateful,  cruel  trick  on 
Lionel  Varick. 

Blanche  at  last  dropped  off  to  sleep,  but  Pegler's  ridicu- 
lous yet  sinister  story  had  spoilt  the  pleasant  memories 
of  her  day,  and  even  her  night,  for  she  slept  badly,  and 
awoke  unrefreshed. 


CHAPTER  X 

THERE  are  few  places  in  a  civilized  country  more 
desolate  than  a  big,  empty  country  railway  station : 
such  a  station  as  that  at  Newmarket — an  amusing,  bus- 
tling sight  on  a  race  day ;  strangely  still  and  deserted,  even 
on  a  fine  summer  day,  when  there's  nothing  doing  in  the 
famous  little  town;  and,  in  the  depth  of  winter,  extraor- 
dinarily forlorn.  The  solitariness  and  the  desolation  were 
very  marked  on  the  early  afternoon  of  New  Year's  Eve 
which  saw  Varick  striding  up  and  down  the  deserted  plat- 
form waiting  for  Dr.  Panton,  and  Dr.  'Panton's  insep- 
arable companion,  a  big,  ugly,  intelligent  spaniel  called 
Span. 

Varick  had  more  than  one  reason  to  be  grateful  to  the 
young  medical  man  with  whom  Fate  had  once  thrown  him 
into  such  close  contact;  and  so  this  last  spring,  when 
Panton  had  had  to  be  in  London  for  a  few  days,  Varick 
had  taken  a  deal  of  trouble  to  ensure  that  the  country 
doctor  should  have  a  good  time.  But  his  own  pleasure  in 
his  friend's  company  had  been  somewhat  spoilt  by  some- 
thing Panton  had  then  thought  it  right  to  tell  him.  This 
something  was  that  his  late  wife's  one-time  companion, 
Miss  Pigchalke,  had  gone  to  Redsands,  and,  seeking  out 
the  doctor,  had  tried  to  force  him  to  say  that  poor  Mrs. 
Varick  had  been  ill-treated — or  if  not  exactly  ill-treated, 
then  neglected — by  her  husband,  during  her  last  illness. 

"I  wouldn't  have  told  you,  but  that  I  think  you  ought 

119 


120       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

to  know  that  the  woman  has  an  inexplicable  grudge 
against  you,"  he  had  said. 

"Not  inexplicable,"  Varick  had  answered  quietly.  "For 
Julia  Pigchalke  first  came  as  governess  to  Wyndfell  Hall 
when  my  wife  was  ten  years  old,  and  she  stayed  on  with 
her  ultimately  as  companion — in  fact  as  more  friend  than 
companion.  Of  course  I  queered  her  pitch!" 

And  then,  rather  hesitatingly,  he  had  gone  on  to  tell 
Dr.  Panton  that  he  was  now  paying  his  enemy  an  annuity 
of  a  hundred  a  year.  This  had  been  left  to  Miss  Pigchalke 
in  an  early  will  made  by  his  poor  wife,  but  it  had  not 
been  repeated  in  the  testatrix's  final  will,  as  Mrs.  Varick 
had  fiercely  resented  Miss  Pigchalke's  violent  disapproval 
of  her  marriage. 

Panton  had  been  amazed  to  hear  of  Varick's  quite  un- 
called-for generosity,  and  he  had  exclaimed,  "Well,  that 
does  take  the  cake !  I  wish  I'd  known  this  before.  Still, 
I  don't  think  Miss  Pigchalke  will  forget  in  a  hurry  what 
I  said  to  her.  I  warned  her  that  some  of  the  things  she 
said,  or  half-said,  were  libellous,  and  that  it  might  end 
very  badly  for  her  if  she  said  them  again.  She  took  the 
line  that  I,  being  a  doctor,  was  privileged — but  I  assured 
her  that  I  was  nothing  of  the  kind!  Still,  she's  a  veno- 
mous old  woman,  and  if  I  were  you  I'd  write  her  a 
solicitor's  letter." 

That  little  conversation,  which  had  taken  place  more 
than  six  months  ago,  came  back,  word  for  word,  to  Var- 
ick's mind,  as  he  walked  sharply  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form, trying  to  get  warm.  It  was  strange  how  Miss  Pig- 
chalke and  her  vigorous,  unpleasant  personality  haunted 
him.  But  he  had  found  in  his  passbook  only  this  morn- 
ing that  she  had  already  cashed  his  last  cheque  for  fifty 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP     .  121 

pounds.  Surely  she  couldn't,  in  decency,  go  on  with  this 
half -insane  kind  of  persecution  if  she  accepted  what  was, 
after  all,  his  free  and  generous  gift  every  six  months? 

The  train  came  steaming  in,  and  only  three  passengers 
got  out.  But  among  them  was  the  man  for  whom  Varick 
was  waiting.  And,  at  the  sight  of  the  lithe,  alert  figure 
of  Dr.  Panton,  and  of  the  one-time  familiar  form  of 
good  old  Span,  Varick's  troubled,  uncomfortable  thoughts 
took  wings  to  themselves  and  flew  away. 

The  two  men's  hands  met  in  a  firm,  friendly  grasp. 
"This  is  jolly,"  said  the  younger  of  the  two,  as  they 
walked  out  to  the  big  car.  "And  I'm  ever  so  much  obliged 
to  you  for  letting  me  bring  Span !" 

And  Panton  did  think  it  very  jolly  of  Varick  to  have 
left  his  guests,  and  come  all  this  way  through  the  cold 
to  meet  him.  It  was  good  of  him,  too,  to  have  let  him 
bring  his  dog. 

As  they  drove  slowly  through  the  picturesque  High 
Street  of  the  famous  town,  Varick's  friend  looked  about 
him  with  keen  interest  and  enjoyment.  He  had  an  eager, 
intelligent,  alert  mind,  and  he  had  never  been  to  New- 
market before. 

Once  they  got  clear  of  the  town,  and  were  speeding 
through  the  pleasant,  typically  English  country  lanes 
which  give  Suffolk  a  peculiarly  soothing  charm  Span  (who 
was  a  rather  large  liver-and-white  spaniel) ,  lying  stretched 
out  sedately  at  their  feet,  Varick  suddenly  asked  care- 
lessly :  "No  more  news  of  my  enemy,  Miss  Pigchalke,  I 
suppose?" 

Panton  turned  to  him  quickly  in  the  rushing  wind: 
"Yes,  something  has  happened.  But  I  didn't  think  it 


122        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

worth  writing  to  you  about.  An  extraordinary  advertise- 
ment appeared  about  a  month  ago  in  one  of  the  popular 
Sunday  papers,  and  Mrs.  Bilton — you  remember  the 
woman ?" 

Varick  shook  his  head.  He  looked  exceedingly  dis- 
turbed and  annoyed,  and  the  man  now  sitting  by  his  side 
suddenly  regretted  that  he  had  said  anything  about  that 
absurd  advertisement. 

"Mrs.  Bilton  was  the  woman  whom  I  recommended  to 
you  as  a  charwoman,  soon  after  you  were  settled  down  at 
Redsands." 

"Yes,  I  remember  the  name  now.    What  of  her?" 

"She  came  up  to  see  me  one  evening  about  a  month  ago, 
and  she  brought  the  paper — the  News  of  the  World  I 
think  it  was — with  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Varick  shortly.  "Yes — go  on,  Panton. 
What  was  in  the  advertisement?" 

"The  advertisement  simply  asked  for  information  about 
you  and  your  doings,  past  and  present,  and  offered  a  re- 
ward for  any  information  of  importance.  It  was  very 
oddly  worded.  What  I  should  call  an  amateur  advertise- 
ment. Mrs.  Bilton  came  up  to  consult  me  as  to  whether 
she  should  write  in  answer  to  it.  Of  course  I  strongly 
advised  her  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  As  a  matter  of 
fact" — Dr.  Panton  chuckled — "I  have  reason  to  believe 
she  did  write,  but  I  need  hardly  say  that,  as  far  as  she 
was  concerned,  nothing  came  of  it !" 

"I  wish  you  could  remember  exactly  how  the  advertise- 
ment was  worded?"  said  Varick.  It  was  dear  that  he 
felt  very  much  disturbed. 

"I'm  sorry  I  didn't  keep  a  copy  of  it ;  all  I  can  tell  you 
is  that  it  asked  for  information  concerning  the  past  life 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       1231 

and  career  of  Lionel  Varick,  sometime  of  Redsands  and 
Chichester." 

"Chichester  ?"  repeated  Varick  mechanically. 

The  name  of  the  Sussex  cathedral  town  held  for  him 
many  painful,  sordid  memories.  His  first  wife,  the 
woman  whose  very  existence  he  believed  unknown  to 
everyone  who  now  knew  him,  with  the  exception  of 
Blanche  Farrow,  had  been  a  Chichester  woman.  It  was 
there  that  they  had  lived  in  poverty  and  angry  misery 
during  the  last  few  weeks  of  her  life. 

"Yes,  that's  all  I  remember — but  I've  put  it  more  clearly 
than  the  advertisement  did." 

"What  an  extraordinary  thing!"  muttered  Varick. 

"I  don't  know  that  it's  so  very  extraordinary.  It  was 
that  woman  Pigchalke's  doing,  obviously.  As  I  told  you 
the  last  time  we  met,  I  felt  that  she  would  stick  at  nothing 
to  annoy  you.  She's  quite  convinced  that  you're  an  out- 
and-out  villain." 

Dr.  Panton  laughed.  He  really  couldn't  help  it.  Var- 
ick was  such  a  thoroughly  good  fellow! 

"I  wonder,"  said  Varick  hesitatingly,  "if  I  could  get  a 
copy  of  that  Sunday  paper?  I  feel  that  it's  the  sort  of 
thing  that  ought  to  be  stopped — don't  you,  Panton?" 

"I'm  quite  sure  it  didn't  appear  again  in  the  same  paper, 
or  I  should  have  heard  of  it  again.  That  one  particular 
copy  did  end  by  going  the  whole  round  of  Redsands.  I 
went  on  hearing  about  it  for,  I  should  think, — well,  right 
up  to  when  I  left  home." 

A  rush  of  blind,  unreasoning  rage  was  shaking  Varick. 
Curse  the  woman !  What  a  brute  she  must  be,  to  take  his 
money,  and  go  on  annoying  him  in  this  way.  "I  wish 


124       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

you'd  written  and  told  me  about  it  when  it  happened,"  he 
said  sombrely. 

The  doctor  looked  at  him,  distressed.  "I'm  sorry  I 
didn't,  if  you  feel  like  that  about  it !"  he  exclaimed.  "But 
you  were  so  put  out  when  I  told  you  of  the  woman's 
having  come  to  see  me,  and  it  was  so  obvious  that  the 
advertisement  came  from  her,  that  I  thought  I'd  say  noth- 
ing about  it.  I  wouldn't  have  told  you  now,  only  that 
you  mentioned  her." 

Varick  saw  that  his  friend  was  very  much  disturbed. 
He  made  a  determined  effort  over  himself.  "Never 
mind/'  he  said,  trying  to  smile.  "After  all,  it's  of  no 
real  consequence." 

"I  don't  know  if  you'll  find  it  any  consolation  to  be  told 
that  that  sort  of  thing  is  by  no  means  uncommon,"  said 
Panton  reflectively.  "People,  especially  women,  whose 
minds  for  any  reason  have  become  just  a  little  unhinged, 
often  take  that  sort  of  strange  dislike  to  another  human 
being.  Sometimes  for  no  reason  at  all.  Every  medical 
man  would  tell  you  of  half-a-dozen  such  cases  within  his 
own  knowledge.  Fortunately,  such  half -insane  people 
generally  choose  a  noted  man — the  Prime  Minister,  for 
instance,  or  whoever  happens  to  be  very  much  in  the 
public  eye.  If  the  persecution  becomes  quite  intolerable 
there's  a  police-court  case — or  the  individual  is  quite  prop- 
erly certified  as  insane." 

And  then  something  peculiar  and  untoward  happened 
to  Lionel  Varick.  The  words  rose  to  his  lips :  "That 
horrible  woman  haunts  me — haunts  me !  I  can  never-  get 
rid  of  her — she  seems  always  there " 

Had  he  uttered  those  words  aloud,  or  had  he  not  ?  He 
glanced  sharply  round,  and  then,  with  relief,  he  made  up 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       125 

his  mind  that  he  had  not  uttered  them,  for  the  man  sitting 
by  his  side  was  looking  straight  before  him,  with  a  pleased, 
interested  expression  on  his  plain,  intelligent  face. 

Varick  pulled  himself  together.  This  would  never  do ! 
He  asked  himself,  with  a  touch  of  acute  anxiety,  whether 
it  were  possible  that  he  was  losing  his  nerve?  He  had 
always  possessed  the  valuable  human  gift  of  being  able 
to  control,  absolutely,  his  secret  feelings  and  his  emotions. 

"Did  I  tell  you  that  Miss  Brabazon  is  here?"  he  asked 
carelessly. 

And  the  other  exclaimed :  "I'm  glad  of  that.  I  formed 
a  tremendously  high  opinion  of  that  girl  last  year.  By 
the  way,  I  was  surprised  to  hear,  quite  by  accident,  the 
other  day,  that  she's  a  lot  of  money.  I  don't  quite  know 
why,  but  I  formed  the  impression  that  it  was  her  friend 
who  was  well-to-do — didn't  you?" 

"I  never  thought  about  it,"  said  Varick  indifferently. 
"By  the  way,  Miss  Brabazon's  old  aunt,  a  certain  Miss 
Burnaby,  is  here  too.  It's  rather  a  quiet  party,  Panton; 
I  hope  you  won't  be  bored." 

"I'm  never  bored.  Who  else  have  you  got  staying 
with  you?" 

Varick  ran  over  the  list  of  his  guests,  only  leaving  out 
one,  and,  after  a  scarcely  perceptible  pause,  he  remedied 
the  omission. 

"Then  there's  Miss  Farrow's  niece ;  she  was  called  after 
her  aunt,  so  her  real  name  is  Blanche " 

"  'Known  to  her  friends  as  Bubbles,'  "  quoted  Dr.  Pan- 
ton,  with  a  cynical  inflection  in  his  voice. 

"How  do  you  know  that  ?"  exclaimed  Varick. 

"Because  there  was  a  portrait  of  the  young  lady  in  the 
Sketch  last  week.  She  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  feminine 


126       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

edition  of  the  Admirable  Crichton.  She  can  act,  dance, 
cook — and  she's  famed  as  a  medium  in  the  psychic  world 
— whatever  that  may  mean !" 

"I  see  you  know  all  about  her,"  observed  Varick, 
smiling. 

But  though  he  was  smiling  at  his  friend,  his  inner 
thoughts  were  grim  thoughts.  He  was  secretly  repeating 
to  himself :  "Chichester,  Chichester?  How  can  she  have 
got  hold  of  Chichester  ?" 

Dr.  Panton  went  on :  "I'm  glad  I'm  going  to  meet  this 
Miss  Bubbles — I've  never  met  that  particular  type  of 
young  lady  before.  Though,  of  course,  it's  not,  as  some 
people  believe,  a  new  type.  There  have  always  been  girls 
of  that  sort  in  the  civilized  world." 

"It's  quite  true  that  the  most  curious  thing  about  Bub- 
bles," said  Varick  thoughtfully,  "is  a  kind  of  thought- 
reading  gift.  I  fancy  she  must  have  inherited  it  from  an 
Indian  ancestress,  for  her  great-great-grandfather  rescued 
a  begum  on  her  way  to  be  burnt  on  her  husband's  funeral 
pyre.  He  ultimately  married  her,  and  though  she  never 
came  to  England,  Bubbles'  father,  a  fool  called  Hugh 
Dunster,  who's  lost  what  little  money  he  ever  had,  is  one 
of  her  descendants.  There's  something  just  a  little  Ori- 
ental and  strange  in  Bubbles'  appearance." 

"This  is  'curiouser  and  curiouser,'  as  Alice  in  Wonder- 
land used  to  say!"  exclaimed  Panton.  "Do  you  think  I 
could  persuade  Miss  Bubbles  to  give  an  exhibition  of  her 
psychic  gifts?" 

The  speaker  uttered  the  word  "psychic"  with  a  very 
satiric  inflection  in  his  pleasant  voice. 

Varick  smiled  rather  wryly.  "You're  quite  likely  to 
have  an  exhibition  of  them  without  asking  for  it!  The 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP     .  127 

first  evening  that  my  guests  were  here  she  held  what  I 
believe  they  call  a  seance,  and  as  a  result  Miss  Brabazon's 
uncle,  old  Burnaby,  not  only  bolted  from  the  room,  but 
left  Wyndfell  Hall  the  next  morning." 

"What  an  extraordinary  thing!" 

"Yes,"  said  Varick,  "it  was  an  extraordinary  thing. 
I  confess  I  can't  explain  Bubbles'  gift  at  all.  At  this 
seance  of  hers  she  described  quite  accurately  long  dead 
men  and  women " 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  Varick?" 

"Of  course  I  am,  for  she  described  my  own  mother." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Being  a  very  intelligent,  quick  girl,  she  naturally  helps 
herself  out  as  best  she  can,"  went  on  Varick  reflectively. 

"Then  you're  inclined  to  think  her  thought-reading  is 
more  or  less  a  fraud?"  cried  Panton  triumphantly. 

"Less,  rather  than  more,  for  she's  convinced  me  that 
she  sees  into  the  minds  of  her  subjects  and  builds  up  a 
kind  of— of " 

"Description?"  suggested  the  doctor. 

"More  than  that — I  was  going  to  say  figure.  She  de- 
scribed, as  if  she  saw  them  standing  there  before  her, 
people  of  whom  she'd  never  even  heard — and  the  descrip- 
tions were  absolutely  exact.  But  if  you  don't  mind, 
Panton " 

He  hesitated,  and  the  other  said,  "Yes,  Varick?" 

"Well,  I'd  rather  you  leave  all  that  sort  of  thing  alone, 
as  far  as  Bubbles  Dunster  is  concerned.  Both  Miss  Far- 
row and  I  are  very  anxious  that  she  shouldn't  be  up  to 
any  more  of  her  tricks  while  she's  here.  People  don't 
half  like  it,  you  see.  Even  I  didn't  like  it." 

Somehow  it  was  a  comfort  to  Varick  to  talk  freely 


128       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

about  Bubbles  to  a  stranger — Bubbles  had  got  on  his 
nerves.  He  would  have  given  a  good  deal  to  persuade 
her  to  leave  Wyndfell  Hall;  but  he  didn't  know  how  to 
set  about  it.  In  a  sense  she  was  the  soul  of  the  party. 
The  others  all  liked  her.  Yet  he,  himself,  felt  a  sort  of 
growing  repugnance  to  her  which  he  would  have  been 
hard  put  to  it  to  explain.  Indeed,  the  only  way  he 
could  explain  it — and  he  had  thought  a  good  deal  about 
it  the  last  few  days — was  that  she  undoubtedly  possessed 
an  uncanny  power  of  starting  into  life  images  which  had 
lain  long  dormant  in  his  brain. 

For  one  thing — but  that,  of  course,  might  not  be  en- 
tirely Bubbles'  fault — Milly,  his  poor  wife,  had  become 
again  terribly  real  to  him.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  felt 
her  to  be  alive,  say,  in  the  next  room — lying,  as  she  had 
been  wont  to  lie,  listening  for  his  footsteps,  in  the  little 
watering  place  where  they  had  spent  the  last  few  weeks 
of  her  life. 

He  could  not  but  put  down  that  unpleasant,  sinister 
phenomenon  to  the  presence  of  Bubbles,  for  he  had  been 
at  Wyndfell  Hall  all  the  summer,  and  though  the  place 
had  been  Milly's  birthplace — where,  too,  she  had 
spent  her  melancholy,  dull  girlhood — no  thought  of  her 
had  ever  come  to  disturb  his  pleasure  in  the  delightful, 
perfect  house  and  its  enchanting  garden.  Of  course,  now 
and  again  some  neighbour  with  whom  he  had  made  ac- 
quaintance would  say  a  word  to  him  indicating  what  d 
strange,  solitary  life  the  Faunceys,  father  and  daughter, 
had  led  in  their  beautiful  home,  and  how  glad  the  speaker 
was  that  "poor  Milly"  had  had  a  little  happiness  before 
she  died.  To  these  remarks  he,  Varick,  would  of  course 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       129 

answer  appropriately,  with  that  touch  of  sad  reminis- 
cence which  carries  with  it  no  real  regret  or  sorrow. 

But  during  the  last  few  days  it  had  been  otherwise. 
He  could  not  get  Milly  out  of  his  mind,  and  he  had  come 
to  feel  that  if  this  peculiar  sensation  continued,  he  would 
not  be  able  to  bring  himself  to  stay  on  at  Wyndfell  Hall 
after  the  break-up  of  his  present  party. 

This  feeling  of  his  dead  wife's  presence  had  first  be- 
come intolerably  vivid  in  the  village  school-room  during 
the  children's  Christmas  Day  treat.  At  one  time — so  the 
clergyman  had  told  him — Milly  had  had  a  sewing-class  for 
the  village  girls  in  that  very  room ;  but  the  class  had  not 
been  a  success,  and  she  had  given  it  up  after  a  few  weeks. 
That  was  her  only  association  with  the  ugly  little  building, 
and  yet — and  yet,  once  he  had  got  well  into  his  speech, 
he  had  suddenly  felt  her  to  be  there — and  it  was  not  the 
gentle,  fretful,  adoring  Milly  he  had  known,  but  a  Pres- 
ence which  seemed  filled  with  an  awful,  clear-eyed  knowl- 
edge of  certain  secret  facts  which  his  reasoning  faculties 
assured  him  were  only  known  to  his  own  innermost  self. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  TURN  in  the  road  brought  them  within  sight  of 
Wyndfell  Hall,  and— "What  a  singular,  wonder- 
ful-looking old  place!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Panton. 

And,  indeed,  there  was  something  mysteriously  alluring 
in  the  long,  gabled  building  standing  almost,  as  it  were, 
on  an  island,  among  the  high  trees  which  formed  a  screen 
to  the  house  on  the  north  and  east  sides.  It  was  something 
solemn,  something  appealing — like  a  melodious,  plaintive 
voice  from  the  long-distant  past,  out  of  that  Old  Country 
which  was  the  England  of  six  hundred  years  ago. 

"You've  no  idea  how  beautiful  this  place  is  in  summer, 
Panton — and  yet  the  spring  is  almost  more  perfect.  You 
must  come  again  then,  and  make  a  really  good,  long 
stay." 

"Span  will  enjoy  a  swim  in  the  moat  even  now,"  said 
the  doctor,  smiling.  They  were  going  slowly  over  the 
narrow  brick  bridge,  and  so  up  to  the  deep-eaved  porch. 

A  butler  and  footman  appeared  as  if  by  magic,  and 
the  sound  of  laughing  voices  floated  from  behind  them. 
There  was  a  pleasant  stir  of  life  and  bustle  about  the  de- 
lightful old  house,  or  so  it  seemed  to  the  guest. 

He  jumped  out  of  the  car  behind  his  host,  then  he 
turned  round.  "Span !"  he  called  out.  "Span !" 

But  the  dog  was  still  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  car,  and 
he  made  no  movement,  still  less  any  attempt  to  jump 
down. 

130 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   ,131 

"What  an  extraordinary  thing!'*  exclaimed  Span's 
master.  "Come  down,  Span!  Come  down  at  once!" 

He  waited  a  moment ;  then  he  went  forward  and  tried 
to  drag  the  dog  out.  But  Span  resisted  with  all  his 
might.  He  was  a  big  spaniel,  and  Panton,  from  where 
he  stood,  had  no  purchase  on  him.  "There's  something 
wrong  with  him,"  he  said  with  concern.  "Wait  a  mo- 
ment, Varick — if  you  don't  mind." 

He  got  up  into  the  car  again  and  patted  Span's  head. 
The  dog  turned  his  head  slowly,  and  licked  his  master's 
hand. 

"Now,  Span,  jump  out!    There's  a  good  dog!" 

But  Span  never  moved. 

At  last  Panton  managed  to  half -shove,  half -tumble  the 
dog  out.  "I've  only  known  him  behave  like  this  once 
before,"  he  muttered,  "and  that  was  with  a  poor  mad 
woman  whom  I  was  once  compelled  to  put  up  in  my  house 
for  two  or  three  days.  He  simply  wouldn't  go  near  her! 
He  behaved  just  as  he's  doing  now." 

Span  was  lying  on  the  ground  before  them,  inert, 
almost  as  if  dead.  But  his  eyes,  his  troubled,  frightened 
eyes,  were  very  much  alive. 

Varick  went  off  into  the  house  for  a  moment.  He 
had  never  liked  dogs ;  and  this  ugly  brute's  behaviour,  so 
he  told  himself,  annoyed  him  very  much. 

Span  got  up  and  shook  himself,  almost  as  if  he  had  been 
asleep. 

Panton  bent  down.  "Span,"  he  said  warningly,  "be 
a  good  dog  and  behave  yourself !  Remember  what  hap- 
pened to  you  after  the  poor  lunatic  lady  went  away." 

And  Span  looked  up  with  that  peculiar,  thoughtful  look 


132       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

which  dogs  sometimes  have  of  understanding  everything 
which  is  being  said  to  them. 

Span  had  been  beaten — a  very  rare  experience  for 
him — after  the  mad  lady  had  left  the  doctor's  house.  But 
whether  he  understood  or  not  the  exact  reference  to  that 
odious  episode  in  his  happy  past  life,  there  was  no  doubt 
that  Span  did  understand  that  his  master  regarded  him 
as  being  in  disgrace ;  and  it  was  a  very  subdued  dog  that 
walked  sedately  into  the  hall  where  most  of  the  party 
were  gathered  together  ready  to  greet  the  new-comer. 

Miss  Farrow  was  particularly  cordial,  and  so  was  Helen 
Brabazon.  She  and  Dr.  Panton  had  become  real  friends 
during  Mrs.  Varick's  illness,  and  they  had  been  at  one  in 
their  affection  for,  and  admiration  of,  Lionel  Varick  dur- 
ing that  piteous  time.  To  the  doctor  (though  he  would 
not  have  admitted  it,  even  to  himself,  for  the  world)  there 
had  been  something  very  repugnant  about  the  dying 
woman.  Though  still  young  in  years,  she  might  have 
been  any  age ;  and  she  was  so  fretful  and  so  selfish,  hardly 
allowing  her  husband  out  of  her  sight,  while  utterly  de- 
voted to  him,  of  course,  in  her  queer,  egoistic  way — and  to 
Miss  Brabazon,  her  kind  new  friend.  The  doctor  had 
soon  realized  that  it  was  the  pity  which  is  akin  to  love 
which  had  made  Helen  become  so  attached  to  poor  Milly 
Varick — intense  pity  for  the  unhappy  soul  who  was  going 
to  lose  her  new-found  happiness.  Milly's  pathetic  cry: 
"I  never  had  a  girl  friend  before.  You  can't  think  how 
happy  it  makes  me !"  had  touched  Helen  to  the  heart. 

Standing  there,  in  that  noble  old  room  hung  with  some 
beautiful  tapestries  forming  a  perfect  background  to  the 
life  and  colour  which  was  now  filling  it,  Panton  was  sur- 
prised to  find  how  vividly  those  memories  of  last  autumn 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       133 

came  surging  back  to  him.  It  must  be  owing  to  this 
meeting  with  Miss  Brabazon — this  reunion  with  the  two 
people  with  whom  he  had  gone  through  an  experience 
which,  though  it  so  often  befalls  a  kind  and  sympathetic 
doctor,  yet  never  loses  its  poignancy — that  he  was  think- 
ing now  so  intensely  of  poor  Mrs.  Varick. 

It  was  Helen  Brabazon  who  had  introduced  the  new- 
comer to  Miss  Farrow,  for  Varick  had  disappeared,  and 
soon  Dr.  Panton  was  looking  round  him  with  interest  and 
curiosity.  Most  of  the  people  whom  he  knew  to  be 
staying  at  Wyndfell  Hall  were  present,  but  not  the  girl 
his  friend  had  described — not  the  girl,  that  is,  whose  por- 
trait he  had  seen  in  the  Sketch.  Just  as  he  was  telling 
himself  this,  a  door  opened,  and  two  people  came  through 
together — a  tall,  fair,  smiling  young  man,  and  a  quaint, 
slender  figure,  looking  like  a  child  rather  than  like  a 
woman,  whose  pale,  yet  vivid  little  face  was  framed  in 
thick,  dark  brown,  bobbed  hair,  and  whose  large,  bright 
eyes  gleamed  mischievously. 

Bubbles  had  chosen  to  put  on  this  afternoon  a  long, 
rose-red  knitted  jumper  over  a  yellow  skirt,  and  she  looked 
as  if  she  had  stepped  out  from  some  ancient  Spanish  re- 
ligious procession. 

"Bubbles/'  called  out  her  aunt,  "this  is  Dr.  Panton. 
Come  and  be  introduced  to  him." 

Then  something  very  odd  happened.  Varick  joined 
his  new  guest  at  the  very  same  moment  that  the  girl 
came  forward  with  hand  outstretched  and  a  polite  word 
of  welcome  on  her  lips ;  but,  before  she  could  speak,  Span, 
who  had  been  behaving  with  so  sedate  a  dignity  that  the 
people  present  were  scarcely  conscious  of  his  existence, 
gave  a  sudden  loud  and  horrible  howl. 


i34       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

His  master,  disregarding  Bubbles'  outstretched  hand, 
seized  the  dog  by  the  collar,  rushed  with  him  to  the  door 
giving  on  to  the  porch,  and  thrust  him  out  into  the  cold 
and  darkness. 

Span  remained  quite  quiet  when  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  door.  There  might  have  been  no  dog  there. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Panton  apologetically,  as  he  came 
again  towards  the  tea-table.  "I  can't  think  what's  the 
matter  with  the  poor  brute.  He's  almost  perfect  man- 
ners as  a  rule." 

He  turned  to  Miss  Brabazon,  who  laughingly  ex- 
claimed: "Yes,  indeed!  Span's  such  an  old  friend  of 
mine  that  I  feel  quite  hurt.  I  thought  he  would  be  sure 
to  take  some  notice  of  me;  but  I  didn't  even  know  he 
was  there  till  he  set  up  that  awful,  unearthly  howl." 

"I  think  it's  very  cruel  to  have  turned  the  dog  out  into 
the  cold,"  Bubbles  said  in  her  quick,  decided  way. 
"There's  nothing  about  dogs  I  don't  know,  Doctor — 
Doctor " 

" Panton,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Oh,  Panton?  May  I  go  out  to  him,  Dr.  Panton?" 
There  was  a  challenge  in  her  tone. 

Panton  answered  stiffly:  "By  all  means.  But  Span's 
not  always  pleasant  with  complete  strangers ;  and  he  pre- 
fers men,  Miss  Dunster." 

"I  think  he'll  be  all  right  with  me." 

Bubbles  went  and  opened  the  door,  and  a  moment  later 
they  heard  her  low,  throaty  Voice  talking  caressingly  to 
the  dog.  Span  whined,  but  in  a  gentle,  happy  way. 

"He's  quite  good  now,"  she  called  out  triumphantly. 

Varick  turned  to  the  company :  "Will  you  forgive  me 
for  a  moment?"  he  said.  "I  forgot  to  say  a  word  to  my 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP        135 

chauffeur  about  our  plans  for  to-morrow."  And  as  he 
went  through  one  door,  Bubbles,  followed  by  the  now 
good  and  repentant  Span,  appeared  through  another. 

"He's  a  darling,"  she  cried  enthusiastically.  "One 
of  the  nicest  dogs  I've  ever  met!" 

She  sat  down,  and  endeared  herself  further  to  Span  by 
giving  him  a  large  piece  of  cake. 

And  Dr.  Panton,  looking  at  the  charming  group — for 
the  lithe,  dark-haired  girl  in  her  brilliant,  quaint  garment, 
and  the  dog  over  which  she  was  bending,  made  a  delight- 
ful group1 — told  himself  grudgingly  that  Miss  Bubbles  was 
curiously  attractive :  far  more  attractive-looking  than  he 
would  have  thought  her  to  be  by  the  portrait  published  in 
the  Sketch — though  even  that  had  been  sufficiently  ar- 
resting to  remain  in  his  mind  for  two  or  three  days.  Was 
there  really  something  Eastern  about  her  appearance? 
He  would  never  have  thought  it  but  for  those  few  words 
of  Varick's.  Many  English  girls  have  that  clear  olive 
complexion,  those  large,  shadowy  dark  eyes,  which  yet 
can  light  up  into  daring,  fun,  and  mischief. 

But,  alas!  the  story  of  Span — even  this  early  chapter 
of  the  story  of  his  stay  at  Wyndfell  Hall — had  not  a 
happy  ending.  As  Varick  came  forward  again  among  his 
guests,  Span  once  more  set  up  that  sharp,  uncanny  howl, 
and  this  time  he  cringed  and  shivered,  as  well  as  howled. 

Span's  master,  with  an  angry  exclamation,  again 
dragged  the  now  resisting  dog  across  to  the  door  which  led 
into  the  outer  porch.  After  he  had  shut  the  door,  and 
Span's  howls  were  heard  subsiding,  he  turned  to  the 
others  apologetically.  "I'm  really  awfully  sorry,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "If  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on  I'll  have  to  send 
him  home  to-morrow." 


136       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Poor  Panton  looked  thoroughly  put  out  and  annoyed. 
But  Bubbles  came  to  his  rescue — Bubbles  and  the  young 
man  whom  the  doctor  now  knew  to  be  Bill  Donnington. 

"Come  on,  Bill !  We'll  take  him  round  to  the  kitchen. 
You  don't  mind,  do  you?" 

Span's  owner  shook  his  head;  devoted  though  he  was 
to  his  dog,  he  felt  he  could  well  do  without  Span  for  a 
while. 

After  Bubbles  and  Donnington  had  disappeared  to- 
gether, their  eager  voices  could  be  heard  from  the  paved 
court-yard  which  connected  two  of  the  wings  of  Wynd- 
fell  Hall.  Span  was  barking  now,  barking  eagerly,  hap- 
pily, confidently.  And  when  the  two  young  people  reap- 
peared they  were  both  laughing. 

"He's  taken  to  the  cook  tremendously,"  said  Bubbles. 
"And  he's  even  made  friends — and  that's  much  more 
wonderful — with  the  cat.  He  went  straight  up  to  her 
and  smelt  her,  and  she  seemed  to  be  quite  pleased  with  the 
attention." 

She  turned  to  Dr.  Panton:  "I'll  go  out  presently  and 
see  how  he's  getting  on,"  she  added. 

He  looked  at  her  gratefully.  She  really  was  a  nice 
girl !  He  had  thought  that  she  would  be  one  of  those  dis- 
agreeable, forward,  self-sufficing,  modern  young  women, 
who  are  absorbed  only  in  themselves,  and  in  the  effect 
they  produce  on  other  people.  But  Miss  Bubbles  was 
not  in  the  least  like  that. 

Helen  Brabazon  whispered,  smiling:  "Isn't  Bubbles 
Dunster  a  dear,  Dr.  Panton?  She's  not  like  anyone  I 
ever  met  before — and  that  makes  her  all  the  nicer,  doesn't 

it?;" 


CHAPTER  XII 

ABOUT  an  hour  after  Dr.  Panton's  arrival,  the  whole 
of  the  party  was  more  or  less  scattered  through  the 
delightful  old  house,  with  the  exception  of  Lionel  Varick, 
who  had  gone  off  to  the  village  by  himself. 

But  the  four  ladies  finally  gathered  together  in  the  hall 
to  put  in  the  time  between  tea  and  dinner. 

Miss  Burnaby  was  soon  nodding  over  a  book  close  to 
the  fire,  while  Helen  Brabazon  and  Blanche  Farrow  had 
brought  down  their  work.  This  consisted,  as  far  as 
Helen  was  concerned,  of  a  complicated  baby's  garment 
destined  for  the  Queen's  Needlework  Guild.  Blanche, 
sitting  close  to  Helen,  was  bending  over  a  frame  con- 
taining the  intricate  commencement  of  a  fruit  and  bird 
petit-point  picture,  which,  when  finished,  she  intended 
should  form  a  banner  screen  for  this  very  room. 

Three  seven-branched  silver  candlesticks  had  now  been 
lighted,  and  formed  pools  of  soft  radiance  in  the  gather- 
ing dusk. 

After  wandering  about  restlessly  for  a  while,  Bubbles 
ensconced  herself  far  away  from  the  others,  in  the  old 
carved  wood  confessional,  which  had  seemed  in  Don- 
nington's  eyes  so  incongruous  and  unsuitable  an  object  to 
form  part  of  the  furnishings  of  a  living  room. 

To  Blanche  Farrow,  the  confessional,  notwithstanding 
the  beauty  of  the  carving,  suggested  an  irreverent  simile 
— that  of  a  telephone-box.  She  told  herself  that  only 

i37 


138       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Bubbles  would  have  chosen  such  an  uncomfortable  rest- 
ing-place. 

But  when  stepping  up  into  what  had  once  been  the 
priest's  narrow  seat,  Bubbles  called  out  that  it  was  de- 
lightfully nice  and  quiet  in  there,  as  well  as  dark — for 
there  still  hung  over  the  aperture  through  which  she  had 
just  passed  a  curtain  of  green  silk  brocade  embroidered 
with  pale  passion  flowers. 

There  followed  a  period  of  absolute  silence  and  quietude 
in  the  room.  Then  the  door  leading  from  the  outside 
porch  opened,  and  Varick  came  in.  "I  hope  I'm  not  in- 
truding," he  exclaimed  in  his  full,  resonant  voice;  and 
the  ladies,  with  the  exception  of  Bubbles,  who  remained 
invisible,  looked  up  and  eagerly  welcomed  him. 

During  the  last  few  days  he  had  made  a  real  conquest 
of  Miss  Burnaby,  who,  with  the  one  startling  exception  of 
the  emotion  betrayed  by  her  at  the  seance,  secretly  struck 
both  him  and  Blanche  Farrow  as  the  most  commonplace 
human  being  with  whom  either  had  ever  come  in  con- 
tact. 

"I'm  quite  warm/'  he  said,  in  answer  to  the  old  lady's 
invitation  to  come  up  to  the  fire.  "I  had  to  go  down  to 
the  village  Post  Office  to  see  why  the  London  papers 
hadn't  arrived.  But  I've  got  them  all  now." 

He  came  over  to  where  she  was  sitting  and  handed 
her  a  picture  paper.  Then  he  retreated,  far  from  the  fire, 
close  to  a  table  which  was  equi-distant  from  the  confes- 
sional and  the  door  giving  access  to  the  staircase  hall. 
Bringing  forward  a  deep,  comfortable  chair  out  of  the 
shadows,  he  sat  down,  and  opening  one  of  the  news- 
papers he  had  brought  in,  began  to  read  it  with  close  at- 
tention. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP     /i39 

On  the  table  at  his  elbow,  there  now  stood  what  looked 
to  Helen's  eyes  like  a  bouquet  of  light.  But  this  only 
made  the  soft  darkness  which  filled  the  further  side  of  the 
great  room  seem  more  intense  to  those  sitting  near  the 
fireplace. 

They  were  all  pleasantly  tired  after  the  doings  of  the 
day ;  and  soon  Blanche's  quick  ears  caught  a  faint,  regu- 
lar sound  issuing  from  the  far-off  confessional.  Bub- 
bles, so  much  was  clear,  had  fallen  asleep. 

And  then,  not  for  the  first  time  in  the  last  few  days, 
the  aunt  began  considering  within  herself  the  problem  of 
her  niece.  Blanche  had  begun  to  like  Donnington  with 
a  cordiality  of  liking  which  surprised  herself.  His  selfless 
love  for  the  girl  touched  her  more  than  she  had  thought 
it  possible  for  anything  now  to  touch  her  worldly  heart. 
And  whereas  she  would  naturally  have  considered  a  mar- 
riage between  the  penniless  Donnington  and  brilliant, 
clever,  popular  Bubbles  as  being  out  of  the  question, 
she  was  beginning  to  feel  that  such  a  marriage  might  be, 
nay,  almost  certainly  was,  the  only  thing  likely  to  ensure 
for  Bubbles  a  reasonably  happy  and  normal  life.  Blanche 
Farrow  knew  enough  of  human  nature  to  realize  that 
the  kind  of  love  Bill  Donnington  felt  for  her  strange  little 
niece  was  of  a  high  and  rare  quality.  It  was  very  unlike 
the  usual  selfish,  acquisitive  love  of  a  man  for  a  maid. 
It  was  more  like  the  tender,  watching,  tireless  devotion 
certain  mothers  have  for  their  children — it  was  infinitely 
protecting,  infinitely  forgiving,  infinitely  understanding. 

Blanche  sighed,  a  long,  deep  sigh,  as  she  told  herself 
sadly  that  no  one  had  ever  loved  her  like  that — not  even 
her  old  friend  Mark  Gifford.  He  had  loved  her  long;  in 
fact  he  rarely  saw  her,  even  now,  without  asking  her  to 


140       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

marry  him.  Also  he  had  been,  in  his  own  priggish  way,  a 
very,  very  good  and  useful  friend  to  her.  But  still, 
Blanche  knew,  deep  in  her  heart,  that  Mark  Gifford  dis- 
approved of  her,  that  he  often  misunderstood  her,  that 
he  was  ashamed  of  the  strength  of  the  attraction  which 
made  him  still  wish  to  make  her  his  wife,  and  which  had 
kept  him  a  bachelor.  As  long  as  this  old  friend  had 
known  her  he  had  always  written  her  a  Christmas  letter. 
The  letter  had  not  come  this  Christmas,  and  she  had 
missed  it.  But  Mark  had  no  idea  of  where  she  was,  and 
— and  after  all,  perhaps  his  faithful  friendship  had 
waned  at  last  from  lack  of  real  response. 

And  then,  while  thinking  these  rather  melancholy', 
desultory  thoughts,  Blanche  Farrow  suddenly  experienced 
a  very  peculiar  sensation.  It  was  that  of  finding  herself 
as  if  impelled  to  look  up  from  the  embroidery-frame  over 
which  she  was  bending. 

She  did  look  up;  and  for  a  moment  her  heart — that 
heart  which  the  way  of  her  life  had  so  atrophied  and 
hardened — seemed  to  stop  beating,  for  just  behind  Lionel 
Varick,  whose  head  was  still  bent  over  his  newspaper  with 
a  complete  air  of  unconcern,  interest,  and  ease — stood, 
or  appeared  to  stand,  two  shadowy  figures. 

She  shut  her  eyes;  then  opened  them  again — wide. 
The  figures  were  still  there,  and  they  had  grown  clearer, 
more  definite,  especially  the  countenance  of  each  of  the 
two  wraith-like  women  who  stood,  like  sentinels,  one  on 
either  side  of  the  seated  man. 

Blanche  gazed  at  them  fixedly  for  what  seemed  to  her 
an  eternity  of  time.  But  even  while,  in  a  way,  she  could 
not  deny  the  evidence  of  her  senses,  she  was  telling  her- 
self that  she  was  really  seeing  nothing — that  this  extra- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       141 

ordinary  experience  was  but  another  exercise  of  Bubbles' 
uncanny  power. 

And  as  she,  literally  not  believing  the  evidence  of  her 
senses,  stared  at  the  two  immobile  figures,  her  eyes  be- 
came focussed  on  the  face  of  the  woman  standing  to 
Varick's  right.  There  was  a  coarse  beauty  in  the  mask- 
like-looking  countenance,  but  it  was  a  beauty  now  instinct 
with  a  kind  of  stark  ferocity  and  rage. 

At  last  she  slowly  concentrated  her  gaze  on  the  other 
luminous  figure.  Though  swathed  from  neck  to  heel  in 
what  Blanche  told  herself,  with  a  peculiar  feeling  of 
horror,  were  old-fashioned  grave-clothes,  the  second 
woman  yet  looked  more  real,  more  alive,  than  the  other. 
Her  face,  if  deadly  pale,  was  less  mask-like,  and  the  small, 
dark  eyes  gleamed,  while  the  large,  ill-shaped  mouth 
seemed  to  be  quivering. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  the  form  to  Varick's  right  began 
to  dissolve — to  melt,  as  it  were,  into  the  green-grey  and 
blue  tapestry  which  hung  across  the  farther  wall  of  the 
hall. 

But  while  this  curious  phenomenon  took  place,  the 
woman  swathed  in  her  grave-clothes  remained  quite  clear- 
ly visible.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  Helen  Brabazon  started  to  her  feet;  she  ut- 
tered a  loud  and  terrible  cry — and  at  that  same  moment 
Blanche  saw  the  more  living  and  sinister  of  the  two  ap- 
parations  also  become  disintegrated,  and  quickly  dis- 
solve into  nothingness. 

Lionel  Varick  leapt  from  his  chair.  His  face  changed 
from  a  placid  gravity  to  one  of  surprise  and  distress. 
"What  is  it?"  he  cried,  coming  forward.  "What  is  it, 
Miss  Brabazon — Helen?" 


142        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

The  girl  whom  he  addressed  fell  back  into  her  chair. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Twice  she  opened 
her  lips  and  tried  to  speak — in  vain.  At  last  she  gasped 
out,  "It's  all  right  now.  I'll  be  better  in  a  minute." 

"But  what  happened?"  exclaimed  Varick.  "Did  any- 
thing happen?" 

"I  think  I  must  have  gone  to  sleep  without  knowing 
it — for  I've  had  a  terrible,  terrible — nightmare !" 

Miss  Burnaby  got  up  slowly,  deliberately,  from  her 
chair  near  the  fire.  She  also  came  up  to  her  niece. 

"You  were  working  up  to  the  very  moment  you  cried 
out,"  she  said  positively.  "I  had  turned  round  and  I 
was  watching  you — when  suddenly  you  jumped  up  and 
gave  that  dreadful  cry." 

"Do  tell  us  what  frightened  you,"  said  Varick  solicit- 
ously. 

"Please  don't  ask  me  what  I  saw — or  thought  I  saw; 
I  would  rather  not  tell  you,"  Helen  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"But  of  course  you  must  tell  us!"  Miss  Burnaby 
roused  herself,  and  spoke  with  a  good  deal  of  authority. 
"If  you  are  not  well  you  ought  to  see  a  doctor,  my  dear 
child." 

Helen  burst  into  bitter  sobs.  "I  thought  I  saw  Milly, 
Mr.  Varick — poor,  poor  Milly !  She  locked  exactly  as  she 
looked  when  I  last  saw  her,  in  her  coffin,  excepting  that 
her  eyes  were  open.  She  was  standing  just  behind  you — 
and  oh,  I  shall  never,  never  forget  her  look!  It  was  a 
terrible,  terrible  look — a  look  of  hatred.  Yet  I  cared  for 
her  so  much!  You  know  I  did  all  that  was  possible  for 
one  woman  to  do  for  another  during  those  few  weeks 
that  I  knew  her?" 

Lionel  Varick's   face  turned  a  curious,  .greyly  pallid 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP        143 

tint.  It  was  as  if  all  the  natural  colour  was  drained  out 
of  it. 

"Where's  Bubbles?"  he  asked,  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice. 

For  a  moment  no  one  answered  him,  and  then  Blanche 
said  quietly :  "Bubbles  is  over  there,  in  the  confessional, 
asleep." 

He  turned  and  walked  quickly  over  to  the  carved,  box- 
like  confessional,  and  drew  aside  the  green-embroidered 
curtain. 

Yes,  the  girl  lay  there  asleep — or  was  she  only  pretend- 
ing? Her  breast  rose  and  fell,  her  eyes  were  closed. 

Varick  took  hold  of  her  arm  with  no  gentle  gesture, 
and  she  awoke  with  a  cry  of  surprise  and  pain.  "What 
is  it?  Don't  do  that!"  she  said  in  a  hoarse  and  sleepy 
tone. 

And  then,  on  seeing  who  it  was,  she  smiled  wryly.  "Is 
it  forbidden  to  get  in  here?"  she  asked,  still  speaking  in 
a  heavy,  dull  way.  "I  didn't  know  it  was," — and  stum- 
blingly  she  stepped  down  out  of  the  confessional. 

Varick  scowled  at  her,  and  made  no  answer  to  her 
•question.  Together  they  walked  over  to  where  the  other 
three  were  standing — Miss  Burnaby  still  gazing  at  her 
niece,  with  an  annoyed,  frightened  expression  on  her 
face. 

As  Bubbles  and  Varick  came  up  to  her,  Helen  got  up 
from  the  chair  in  which  she  had  sunk  back.  She  held  a 
handkerchief  to  her  face,  and  was  making  a  great  effort 
to  regain  her  self-control  and  composure. 

"Please  forgive  me,  Mr.  Varick.  I  oughtn't  to  have 
told  you  what  I  thought  I  saw — for  I'm  sure  it  was  only 


144       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

a  dream,  a  horrible,  startling  dream.  But — but  you  made 
me  tell  you,  didn't  you?" 

She  looked  up  into  his  pale,  convulsed  face  with  an 
anguished  expression.  "I  think  I'll  go  upstairs  now,  and 
rest  a  little  before  I  dress  for  dinner,"  and  then  she 
walked  across  the  room,  and  out  of  the  door,  with  a  steady 
step. 

Bubbles  stretched  out  her  arms  with  a  weary  gesture. 
"What's  all  this  fuss  about?"  she  asked.  "I  feel  abso- 
lutely done — done — done!  Not  at  all  as  if  I'd  had  a 
good  long  sleep.  I  wonder  how  long  I  -was  asleep?" 

"You  didn't  sleep  very  long,"  said  her  aunt  dryly — 
"not  half-an-hour  in  all.  I  should  advise  you,  Bubbles, 
to  follow  Miss  Brabazon's  example — go  up  and  have  a 
good  rest,  before  getting  ready  for  dinner." 

Bubbles  turned  away.  She  walked  very  slowly,  with 
dragging  steps,  to  the  door;  and  a  moment  later  Miss 
Burnaby  also  left  the  room. 

Varick  walked  over  towards  the  fireplace.  He  held 
out  his  hands  to  the  flames — he  felt  cold,  shiveringly  cold. 

He  turned,  as  he  had  so  often  done  in  the  past,  for 
comfort  to  the  woman  now  standing  silent  by  his  side, 
and  who  knew  at  once  so  much  and  so  little  of  his  real 
life. 

"I  wonder  what  really  happened?"  he  muttered.  "It 
was  a  most  extraordinary  thing!  I've  seldom  met  any- 
one so  little  hysterical  or  fanciful  as — as  is  Miss  Braba- 
zon."  And  then :  "Why,  Blanche,"  he  exclaimed,  star- 
tled, "what's  the  matter?" 

There  was  a  look  on  her  face  he  had  never  seen  there 
before — a  very  troubled,  questioning,  perplexed  look. 

"I  saw  something  too,  Lionel,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice; 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"I — I  saw  more  than  Helen  Brabazon  admits  to  having 
seen." 

"You  saw  something?"  he  echoed  incredulously, 

"Yes,  and  were  it  not  that  I  am  an  older  woman,  and 
have  more  self-control  than  your  young  friend,  I  should 
have  cried  out  too." 

"What  did  you  see?"  he  asked  slowly. 

"What  I  think  I  saw — for  I  am  quite  convinced  that  I 
saw  nothing  at  all,  and  that  the  extraordinary  phenomenon 
or  vision,  call  it  what  you  will,  was  only  another  of 

Bubbles'  tricks — what  I  saw "  She  stopped  dead 

She  found  it  extraordinarily  difficult  to  go  on. 

"Yes?"  he  said  sharply.  "Please  tell  me,  Blanche. 
What  is  it  you  saw,  or  thought  you  saw  ?" 

"I  thought  I  saw  two  women  standing  just  behind  your 
chair,"  she  said  deliberately. 

Varick  made  a  violent  movement — so  violent  that  it 
knocked  over  a  rather  solid  little  oak  stool  which  always 
stood  before  the  fire.  "I  beg  your  pardon !"  he  exclaimed ; 
and,  stooping,  picked  the  stool  up  again.  Then,  "What 
sort  of  women?"  he  asked;  and  though  he  tried  to  speak 
lightly,  he  failed,  and  knew  he  failed. 

"It  isn't  very  easy  to  describe  them,"  she  said  reluc- 
tantly. "The  one  was  a  stout  young  woman,  with  a  gipsy 
type  of  face — that's  the  best  way  I  can  describe  it.  But 
the  other " 

She  waited  a  full  minute,  but  Varick  did  not,  could 
not,  speak. 

She  went  on: 

"The  other,  Lionel,  looked  more  like — well,  like  what 
a  ghost  is  supposed  to  look  like!  She  was  swathed  in 
white  from  head  to  foot,  and  she  appeared — I  don't  quite 


146       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

know  how  to  describe  it — as  if  at  once  alive  and  dead. 
Her  face  looked  dead,  but  her  eyes  looked  alive." 

"Had  you  ever  seen  either  of  these  women  before — I 
mean  in  life?" 

He  had  turned  away  from  her,  and  was  staring  into  the 
fire. 

"No;  I've  never  seen  anyone  in  the  least  like  either  of 
them." 

Varick  moved  a  few  steps,  and  then,  as  if  hardly  know- 
ing what  he  was  doing,  he  began  turning  over  the  leaves 
of  the  picture  paper  Miss  Burnaby  had  been  reading. 

"Do  you  suppose  that  Helen  Brabazon  saw  exactly 
what  you  saw?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"No,  I'm  sure  she  didn't;  for  the  younger-looking 
woman  had  already  disappeared,  it  was  as  if  she  faded 
into  nothingness,  before  Helen  Brabazon  called  out," — 
there  was  a  hesitating,  dubious  tone  in  Blanche's  voice. 
"But  of  course  we  can't  tell  what  exactly  she  did  see.  She 
may  have  seen  something — someone — quite  different  from 
what  I  thought  I  saw." 

Varick  began  staring  into  the  fire  again,  and  Blanche 
felt  intolerably  nervous  and  uncomfortable.  "I  think, 
Lionel,  that  I  must  speak  to  Bubbles  very  seriously !"  she 
said  at  last.  "I  haven't  a  doubt  now  that  she  really  has 
got  some  uncanny  power — a  power  of  stirring  the  imagi- 
nation— of  making  those  about  her  think  they  see  visions." 

"But  why  should  she  have  chosen  that  you  should  see 
such — such  a  vision  as  that?"  he  asked,  almost  in  a 
whisper. 

"Ah,  there  you  have  me !  I  can't  imagine  what  should 
prompt  her  to  do  such  a  cruel,  unseemly  thing." 

"You  think  it's  quite  impossible  that  Bubbles  personated 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       147 

either  of  these — these" — he  hesitated  for  a  word,  and 
Blanche  answered  his  only  half -asked  question  very  de- 
cidedly. 

"If  there'd  been  only  one  figure  there,  I  confess  I 
should  have  thought  that  Bubbles  had  in  some  way  dressed 
up,  and  'worked  it.'  You  know  how  fond  she  used  to  be 
of  practical  jokes?  But  there  were  two  forms — absolute- 
ly distinct  the  one  from  the  other." 

Lionel  Varick  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  long  room. 
Then  he  came  and  stood  opposite  to  her,  and  she  was 
shocked  at  the  change  in  his  face.  He  looked  as  if  he 
had  been  through  some  terrible  physical  experience. 

"I  wish  you'd  arrange  for  her  to  go  away,  at  once — 
I  mean,  to-morrow.  Forgive  me  for  saying  such  a  thing, 
but  I  feel  that  nothing  will  go  right  while  Bubbles  is  at 
Wyndfell  Hall,"  he  exclaimed. 

Blanche  looked  what  he  had  never  seen  her  look  before 
— offended.  "I  don't  think  I  can  get  her  away  to-morrow, 
Lionel.  She's  nowhere  to  go  to.  After  all,  she  gave  up 
a  delightful  party  to  come  here  and  help  us  out." 

"Very  well,"  he  said  hastily.  "Perhaps  I  ought  not  to 
have  suggested  anything  so  inhospitable" — he  tried  to 
smile.  "But  I  will  ask  you  to  do  me  one  favour?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  still  speaking  coldly.     "What  is  it?" 

"I  want  you  to  ask  Miss  Brabazon  and  her  aunt  to 
keep  what  happened  this  afternoon  absolutely  to  them- 
selves." • 

"Of  course  I  will !"  She  was  relieved.  "I  don't  think 
either  of  them  is  in  the  least  likely  to  be  even  tempted  to 
speak  of  it." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BUT  even  while  Varick  and  Blanche  Farrow  were 
arranging  together  that  this  disturbing  and  mys- 
terious occurrence  should  remain  secret,  Helen  Brabazon 
was  actually  engaged  in  telling  one  who  was  still  a 
stranger  to  her  the  story  of  her  amazing  experience. 

Perhaps  this  was  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  door  of 
the  hall  had  scarcely  shut  behind  her  when  she  met  Sir 
Lyon  Dilsford  face  to  face. 

Almost  involuntarily  he  exclaimed,  with  a  good  deal 
of  real  concern  in  his  voice:  "Is  anything  the  matter? 
I  hope  you  haven't  had  bad  news  ?" 

She  said,  "Oh,  no,"  and  shook  her  head ;  but  the  tears 
welled  up  again  into  her  eyes. 

When  an  attractive  girl  who  generally  shows  remark- 
able powers  of  quietude  and  self-control  breaks  down, 
and  proves  herself  a  very  woman  after  all,  the  average 
man  is  generally  touched,  and  more  than  a  little  moved. 
Sir  Lyon  felt  oddly  affected  by  Helen's  evident  distress, 
and  an  ardent  desire  to  console  and  to  help  her  rose  in- 
stinctively in  his  mind. 

"Come  into  the  study!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice. 
"And  tell  me  if  there's  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you?" 

She  obeyed  him,  and,  as  he  followed  her  in,  he  shut 
the  door. 

She  sat  down,  and  for  a  while  he  stood  before  her, 
gazing  sympathetically  into  her  flushed,  tear-stained  face. 

148 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       149 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  think  it  so  absurd,"  she  said  falter- 
ingly.  "Even  I  can  hardly  believe  now  that  what  hap- 
pened did  happen!" 

"Don't  tell  me — if  you'd  rather  not,"  he  said  suddenly; 
a  very  disagreeable  suspicion  entering  his  mind. 

Was  it  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  James 
Tapster  had  tried  to — to  kiss  her?  Sir  Lyon  had  a 
great  prejudice  against  the  poor  millionaire,  but  he  in- 
stantly rejected  the  idea.  If  such  a  thing  had  indeed  hap- 
pened to  her,  Helen  Brabazon  was  the  last  girl  ever  to 
offer  to  tell  anyone,  least  of  all  a  man. 

Helen  all  at  once  felt  that  it  would  be  a  comfort  to 
confide  her  strange,  terrifying  experience  to  this  kind 
new  friend. 

"I'd  rather  tell  you,  I  think." 

She  waited  a  moment,  and  then  came  out  with  a 
bald  statement  of  what  had  happened.  "I  was  sitting 
knitting,  when  something  seemed  to  force  me  to  look  up — 
and  I  saw,  or  I  thought  I  saw,  the  spirit  of  a  dear,  dead 
friend." 

Sir  Lyon  uttered  an  exclamation  of  extreme  astonish- 
ment. 

"Yes,  I  know  it  was  only  my  imagination,"  Helen 
went  on  in  a  low,  troubled  voice.  "But  it  gave  me  a 
most  fearful  shock,  and  I  feel  that,  however  long  I  live, 
I  shall  never  forget  it!" 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  a  little  more  about  it,"  he 
said  persuasively.  "I  don't  ask  out  of  idle  curiosity.  I 
was  very  much  impressed  by  what  happened  on  the  first 
night  of  our  visit  here — I  mean  at  the  seance." 

"So  was  I,"  she  said  reluctantly.  "But,  of  course, 
this  had  nothing  to  do  with — with  anything  of  that  sort. 


150       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

In  fact,  Bubbles  (as  she  has  asked  me  to  call  her)  was 
sitting,  asleep,  I  think,  in  that  curious  old  carved  confes- 
sional box.  My  aunt  and  Mr.  Varick  were  reading — Mr. 
Varick  had  just  come  up  from  the  village  with  this  morn- 
ing's London  papers;  Miss  Farrow  was  doing  her  em- 
broidery, and  I'd  just  been  counting  some  stitches  in  my 
knitting,  when  I  looked  up  and  saw " 

She  stopped,  as  if  not  able  to  go  on. 

"Was  what  you  saw,  what  you  took  to  be  an  appari- 
tion, close  to  the  confessional?"  asked  Sir  Lyon  abruptly. 

"No,  not  so  very  close — still,  not  very  far  away.  It — 
she — seemed  to  be  standing  behind  Mr.  Varick,  a  little 
to  his  left,  on  the  door  side." 

"I  suppose  you  would  rather  not  tell  me  who  it  was 
you  saw?" 

Sir  Lyon  thought  he  knew,  but  he  wished  to  feel  sure. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  tell  you,"  yet  she  hesi- 
tated. "It  was  poor  Milly,  Sir  Lyon — I  mean  Mrs.  Lionel 
Varick.  She  and  I  became  great  friends  during  the  weeks 
preceding  her  death.  She  even  told  me  that,  apart  from 
her  husband,  she  had  never  cared  for  anyone  as  she  grew 
to  care  for  me.  And  yet — oh,  Sir  Lyon,  what  was  so 
very,  very  terrible  just  now,  was  that  I  felt  her  looking 
at  me  with  a  kind  of  hatred  in  her  dead  face,"  and,  as 
she  uttered  these  last  words,  an  expression  of  deep  pain 
came  over  Helen  Brabazon's  countenance. 

Sir  Lyon  then  asked  a  rather  curious  question :  "How 
was  the  apparition  clothed?" 

"In  her  shroud.  A  woman  in  Redsands  made  it.  I 
saw  the  woman  about  it — perhaps  that  impressed  it  on 
my  mind,"  her  mouth  quivered.  "The  figure  standing 
there  was  exactly  like  Milly  dead,  excepting  that  her  eyes 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       151 

seemed  alive,  and  that  there  was  that  dreadful  look  of 
anger  on  her  face." 

"How  long  did  the  vision  last?" 

"Oh,  not  a  whole  minute  altogether!  When  I  first 
saw  it  I  got  up,  and  without  knowing  what  I  was  doing, 
I  screamed ;  and  then  she,  Milly,  seemed  to  fade  away — to 
melt  into  the  air. 

"Did  anyone  else  see  anything?"  asked  Sir  Lyon 
eagerly. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so.  In  fact,  I'm  quite  sure  not. 
My  aunt  was  sitting  with  her  back  to  Mr.  Varick." 

There  was  a  pause.  And  then  Helen  asked :  "You 
don't  believe  that  the  dead  can  appear  to  the  living — do 
you,  Sir  Lyon?" 

"I've  never  been  able  quite  to  make  up  my  mind,"  he 
said  slowly.  "But  I  do  believe,  absolutely,  in  what  is  now 
called  materialization.  I  must  believe  in  it,  because  I've 
witnessed  the  phenomena  a  number  of  times  myself.  But, 
of  course,  always  under  a  most  carefully  prepared  set  of 
conditions.  I  wish  you'd  tell  me,"  he  went  on,  "exactly 
how  the  figure  struck  you?  Can  you  describe  to  me  in 
greater  detail  the  appearance  of  what  seemed  to  be  the 
spirit  of  your  friend?" 

Helen  did  not  quite  understand  what  he  meant,  but  she 
answered  obediently :  "It's  very  difficult  to  describe  more 
exactly  what  I  did  see.  As  I  told  you  just  now,  the 
eyes  alone  seemed  to  be  really  alive  in  the  pale,  waxen- 
looking  face,  and  I  thought  the  mouth  quivered." 

"I  know,"   he  interjected   quickly. 

"But  the  rest  of  her  poor,  thin,  emaciated  looking 
body  seemed  to  be  so  stiff  and  still,  swathed  in  the  long, 
white  grave-clothes — and  I  can't  express  to  you  the  sort 


152       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

of  growing  horror  of  it  all!  I  knew  it  was  only  a  few 
moments,  yet  it  seemed  like  hours  of  time.  I  felt  as  if  I 
must  call  out  and  indeed  I  did.  But  before  I  could  go  on 
to  utter  her  name,  Miss  Farrow  spoke  to  me,  my  aunt 
got  up  from  her  chair,  and  Mr.  Varick  rushed  forward! 
Of  course  it  all  happened  in  much  less  time  than  it  takes 
to  tell." 

She  looked  at  iiim  earnestly.  What  a  kind,  dependable 
face  he  had ! 

"Have  you,  Sir  Lyon,  any  explanation  to  suggest?"  she 
asked. 

"I  don't  suppose/'  he  said  slowly,  "that  you  would  ac- 
cept my  explanation,  Miss  Brabazon." 

"I  think  I  would,"  she  said  simply.  "After  what  haj> 
pened  that  first  night  I  feel  that  anything  is  possible. 
I  am  sure  my  dear  father's  spirit  was  there." 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  so  too.  But  as  to  this  instance 
I  am  not  so  sure  that  what  you  saw  was  your  dead 
friend.  Unless " 

"Unless?"  repeated  Helen  questioningly. 

"You  told  me  that  during  her  lifetime  you  were  on  the 
best  terms  of  friendship  with  this  poor  lady,  and  yet 
that  on  her  dead  face  there  was  a  look  of  hatred?  How 
do  you  account  for  that?" 

He  looked  questioningly,  penetratingly,  into  the  girl's 
distressed  face. 

Sir  Lyon  had  always  prided  himself  on  his  self-com- 
mand and  perfect  self-control,  and  yet  he  would  have 
given  almost  anything  for  a  really  honest  answer  to  this 
question. 

And  poor  Helen  did  give  him  an  honest  answer — hon- 
est, that  is,  from  her  own  simple-hearted  point  of  view. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       153 

"I  can't  account  for  it !"  she  exclaimed.  "But  I  am  sure 
it  was  there.  I  felt  the  hatred  coming  out  from  her  to- 
wards me.  And  oh,  Sir  Lyon,  it  was  horrible!" 

"Try  and  think  it  was  not  Mrs.  Varick's  spirit/'  he  said 
impressively.  "Try  and  tell  yourself  that  it  was  either  a 
dream,  a  waking  phantom  of  your  brain,  or — or " 

"Or  what  ?"  asked  Helen  eagerly. 

But  there  are  thoughts,  questions,  suspicions  that  no 
human  being  willingly  puts  into  words. 

During  the  last  few  days  Sir  Lyon  had  become  con- 
vinced that  Lionel  Varick  had  resolved  in  his  powerful, 
unscrupulous  mind  to  make  Helen  Brabazon  his  wife. 
It  was  in  vain  that  he  argued  with  himself  that  the  ques- 
tion of  Miss  Brabazon's  future  concerned  him  not  at  all. 
He  found  himself  again  and  again,  when  watching  those 
two,  giving  a  great  deal  of  uneasy  thought  to  the  matter. 
Now  and  again  he  would  remind  himself  that  Varick  had 
been  no  greater  an  adventurer  than  many  a  man  who, 
when  utterly  impecunious,  has  married  an  heiress  amid 
the  hearty  approval  and  acclamation  of  most  of  the  people 
about  them.  And  Varick  could  not  now  be  regarded  as 
impecunious;  he  was  a  man  of  substance,  though  no 
doubt  even  his  present  income  would  seem  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  the  Brabazon  fortune. 

Sir  Lyon  was  ashamed  of  his  growing  distaste,  even 
dislike,  of  his  courteous  host.  It  was  as  if  in  the  last 
few  days  a  pit  had  been  dug  between  them.  It  was  not 
pleasant  to  him  to  be  accepting  the  hospitality  of  a  man 
whom  he  was  growing  to  dislike  and  suspect  more  and 
more  every  day.  And  yet  though  he  could  have  made  a 


i54       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

hundred  excuses  to  leave  Wyndfell  Hall,  he  stayed  on, 
refusing  to  inquire  too  closely  into  the  reason. 

At  times  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  he  was  keenly 
interested  in  the  problem  presented  by  Bubbles  Dunster. 
The  girl  was  beyond  question  a  most  rare  and  exceptional 
medium.  At  one  time  he  had  made  a  close  study  of 
psychic  phenomena;  and  though  he  had  come  to  certain 
conclusions  which  had  led  to  his  entirely  giving  up  the 
practices  which  had  once  seemed  to  him  the  only  thing 
worth  living  for,  he  was  still  sufficiently  interested  in  the 
subject  to  feel  that  Bubbles'  powers  were  well  worth 
watching. 

Sir  Lyon  would  have  given  much  to  have  been  pres- 
ent at  what,  if  Helen's  account  were  correct,  had  been 
an  extraordinary  example  of  what  is  called  materializa- 
tion. 

Had  this  terrible  vision  of  Mrs.  Varick  been  an  ema- 
nation of  Helen  Brabazon's  own  brain — some  subcon- 
scious knowledge  that  she,  Helen,  was  now  the  object 
of  Varick's  pursuit?  Or  was  this  woman,  whom  they 
all  called  "poor  Milly,"  an  unquiet  spirit,  wandering  about 
full  of  jealous,  cruel  thoughts,  even  with  regard  to  the 
two  who  had  evidently  been  so  selflessly  devoted  to  her — 
her  girl  friend  and  her  husband? 

And  then,  suddenly  a  queer  feeling  of  intense  relief 
swept  over  him.  Whether  a  sentient  being  or  not  had 
appeared  to  Helen  Brabazon,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  what  had  just  happened  would  make  the  course  of 
Varick's  wooing  more  arduous.  He  was  ashamed  to  find 
that  this  conviction  made  him  suddenly  feel  oddly  light- 
hearted — almost,  so  he  told  himself,  a  young  man  again ! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AS  he  walked  into  his  bedroom,  which  was  pleasantly 
warm — for  there  was  a  good  fire,  and  the  curtains 
across  the  three  windows  were  closely  drawn — Dr.  Pan- 
ton  told  himself  that  he  was  indeed  beginning  the  New 
Year  very  well. 

Half-an-hour  ago  the  whole  party,  with  the  exception 
of  Miss  Burnaby,  who  had  gone  to  bed  at  her  usual 
time,  had  stood  outside  the  front  door  under  the  starry 
sky  while  the  many  clocks  of  Wyndfell  Hall  rang  out  the 
twelve  strokes  which  said  farewell  to  the  Old  Year,  and 
brought  the  New  Year  in.  Then  they  had  all  crowded 
back  again  into  the  hall,  and,  hand  in  hand,  sung  "Auld 
Lang  Syne." 

As  everyone  had  shaken  hands  and  wished  each  other 
a  Happy  New  Year,  many  and  sincere  had  been  the  good 
wishes  felt  and  expressed.  Even  James  Tapster  had 
looked  genial  and  happy  for  once.  He  was  beginning  to 
feel  as  if  he  would,  after  all,  throw  the  handkerchief  to 
Bubbles  (his  own  secret,  graceful  paraphrase  for  making 
an  offer  of  marriage).  But  as  yet  Dr.  Panton  knew 
nothing  of  this  little  under-current  in  the  broad  stream 
which  seemed  to  be  flowing  so  pleasantly  before  him. 
Had  he  done  so,  he  would  have  been  startled  and  dis- 
tressed, for  he  had  already,  with  a  shrewd  medical  man's 
judgment,  "sized  up"  his  fellow  guest,  and  found  him 
very  much  wanting. 


156       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Thus  not  knowing  or  divining  anything  of  the  various 
human  under-currents,  save,  perhaps,  that  he  guessed  Don- 
nington  to  be  in  love  with  Bubbles,  Dr.  Panton  went  off 
to  bed  in  a  very  cheerful  and  contented  state  of  mind.  So 
contented  was  he  that  as,  with  leisurely  fingers,  he  lit  the 
candles  on  his  dressing-table,  he  incidentally  told  himself 
that  Wyndfell  Hall  was  the  only  house  in  which  he  had 
ever  stayed  which,  lacking  any  other  luminant  but  lamps 
and  candles,  yet  had  amply  enough  of  both! 

Lighting  a  pipe — for  he  didn't  feel  in  the  least  sleepy — 
he  drew  forward  a  deep,  comfortable  armchair  close  to 
the  fire,  and  took  up  a  book.  But  soon  he  put  it  down 
again,  and,  staring  at  the  dancing  flames,  his  mind  dwelt 
with  retrospective  pleasure  on  the  last  few  hours. 

Seated  between  Helen  Brabazon  and  Bubbles  Dunster, 
he  had  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  delicious  New  Year's  Eve 
dinner  composed  by  Varick's  chef.  Miss  Brabazon  had 
admitted  to  having  a  headache  this  evening,  and  she  cer- 
tainly looked  very  far  from  well — less  well  than  he  had 
thought  her  to  be  when  they  had  first  seen  one  another 
again,  after  so  long  an  absence,  this  afternoon. 

And  yet,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  a  look  of  languor 
suited  her ;  and  he  thought  she  had  grown  decidedly  better- 
looking  in  the  last  year.  At  Redsands  Miss  Brabazon  had 
been  a  little  too  buxom,  a  little  too  self-possessed,  also, 
for  his  taste.  And  yet — and  yet  how  wonderfully  good 
she  had  been  to  poor  Mrs.  Varick!  With  what  tender 
patience  had  she  put  up  with  the  invalid's  querulous  bad 
temper,  never  even  mentioning  it  to  him,  the  doctor,  who 
so  often  received  painful  confidences  of  the  kind  from 
those  who  were  far  nearer  and  dearer  to  a  dying  patient 
than  Helen  had  been  to  querulous  Milly  Varick. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   1-57 

As  for  Miss  Bubbles,  he  felt  it  would  be  easy  to  lose 
one's  heart  to  that  strange,  queer  young  creature.  They 
had  made  real  friends  over  Span.  And,  apropos  of  Span, 
Dr.  Panton  frowned  to  himself.  He  feared  that  the  dog 
was  going  to  be  the  one  blot  on  this  delightful  visit.  Span 
had  been  very,  very  badly  behaved — setting  up  that  un- 
earthly howl  whenever  his  master  brought  him  in  con- 
tact with  the  rest  of  the  party.  Yet  he  was  quite  good 
in  the  servants'  hall.  "It  is  clear  that,  like  so  many 
cleverer  people  than  himself,  Span  likes  low  company," 
Bubbles  had  whispered  mischievously  to  Span's  master. 
"I  daresay  they're  all  very  much  nicer  than  we  are,  if 
we  only  knew  it !"  she  had  gone  on,  but  Dr.  Panton  had 
shaken  his  head.  He  had  no  great  liking  for  the  modern 
domestic  servant.  He  was  one  of  the  many  people  who 
consider  that  the  good  old  type  of  serving-man  and  wait- 
ing-woman has  disappeared  for  ever.  To-night,  remem- 
bering Bubbles'  words,  he  gave  a  careless,  rueful  thought 
to  the  question  of  how  Varick,  who  was  always  generous 
about  money,  must  be  cheated — "rooked"  was  the  expres- 
sion the  doctor  used  in  his  own  mind — by  these  job 
servants  who  were  here,  so  his  host  told  him,  just  for 
the  one  month.  Still,  they  were  all  fulfilling  their  part 
of  their  contract  very  well,  especially  the  chef!  Every- 
thing seemed  to  go  on  oiled  wheels  at  Wyndfell  Hall.  But 
this  might  be  owing  to  clever  Miss  Farrow,  for  Varick  had 
told  him  that  Miss  Farrow  was  acting  as  hostess  to  the 
party. 

Panton  didn't  much  like  that  composed,  clever-looking 
lady.  She  made  him  feel  a  little  shy,  a  little  young — a  sen- 
sation he  didn't  very  often  experience  nowadays!  She 
treated  him  with  a  courtesy  which,  if  elaborate,  was  also 


158        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

distant.     It  was  odd  to  think  that  Miss  Farrow  was  the 
unconventional,  friendly  Bubbles  Dunster's  aunt. 

Sir  Lyon  Dilsford,  on  the  other  hand,  he  liked  very 
much.  He  smiled  a  queer  little  smile  as  he  thought  of 
this  new  acquaintance.  He  had  looked  up  in  the  middle 
of  dinner,  and  caught  a  rather  curious  look  on  Sir  Lyon's 
face.  It  was  a  thoughtful,  considering,  almost  tender  look. 
Was  Sir  Lyon  attracted  to  Helen  Brabazon  ?  Well,  Miss 
Brabazon,  with  her  vast  wealth,  and  Sir  Lyon,  with  his 
fine  old  name,  and  agreeable,  polished  personality,  would 
seem  well  matched,  according  to  a  worldly  point  of  view. 
But  Panton  told  himself  that  he  would  far  prefer  Lionel 
Varick  were  he  a  young  woman.  But  he  feared  there  was 
no  hope  of  such  a  chance  coming  Miss  Brabazon's  way. 
Varick' s  heart — his  big,  sensitive  heart — was  buried  in 
the  grave  of  his  wife.  .  .  . 

How  strange  to  think  that  "poor  Milly" — for  so  had 
even  her  doctor  come  to  call  her  in  his  own  mind — had 
been  born  and  brought  up  in  this  delightful  old  house !  She 
had  once  spoken  to  him  of  her  unhappy  girlhood,  coupling 
it  with  an  expression  of  gratitude  to  her  husband  for 
having  so  changed  her  life. 

"Poor  Milly"  was  very  present  to  Dr.  Panton  to- 
night. He,  who  had  hardly  given  her  a  thought  during 
the  last  twelve  months,  found  himself  dwelling  on  her  to 
an  almost  uncanny  extent.  He  even  recalled  some  un- 
usual features  of  her  illness  which  had  puzzled  and  wor- 
ried him  greatly.  He  dismissed  the  recollection  of  certain 
of  her  symptoms  with  an  effort.  There  is  no  truer  saying 
— at  any  rate  from  a  doctor's  point  of  view — than  "Let 
the  dead  bury  their  dead."  He  had  done  his  very  best 
for  Mrs.  Varick,  lavished  on  her  everything  that  skill 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       159 

and  kindness  could  do,  and  she  had  been  extraordinarily 
blessed,  not  only  in  her  devoted  husband,  but  in  that  sud- 
den, unexpected  friendship  with  another  woman— and 
with  such  a  good,  conscientious,  sweet-tempered  young 
woman  as  was  Helen  Brabazon.  .  .  . 

Half-past  one  struck  on  the  landing  outside  his  room, 
and  Dr.  Panton  got  up  from  the  comfortable  easy  chair; 
time  to  be  going  to  bed,  yet  he  still  felt  quite  wide  awake. 

He  walked  over  to  the  window  nearest  to  the  fire- 
place, and  drew  back  the  heavy,  silk-brocaded  curtain.  It 
was  a  wonderful  night,  with  a  promise,  he  thought,  of 
fine  weather — though  one  of  the  men  who  had  stood  out- 
side with  him  had  predicted  snow.  What  a  curious,  eerie 
place  this  old  Suffolk  house  was!  Probably  the  landscape 
had  scarcely  changed  at  all  in  the  last  five  hundred  years. 
Below  he  could  see  gleaming  water.  .  .  . 

He  let  fall  the  curtain,  and,  blowing  out  the  candles,  got 
slowly,  luxuriously,  into  the  vast,  comfortable  four-post 
bed. 

As  he  composed  himself  to  sleep,  broken,  disconnected 
images  floated  through  his  brain.  Bill  Donnington — 
what  a  nice  boy!  And  yet  not  exactly,  he  felt,  in  sym- 
pathy with  any  of  the  people  there.  He  wondered  why 
Bill  Donnington  had  come  to  spend  Christmas  at  Wynd- 
fell  Hall.  Then  he  remembered — and  smiled  in  the  fitful 
firelight.  What  a  pity  there  wasn't  some  nice,  simple, 
gentle  girl  for  young  Donnington !  That  was  the  sort  of 
girl  he,  Panton,  would  have  chosen  for  him.  Miss  Bub- 
bles, so  much  was  clear,  rather  despised  the  poor  lad. 
She  had  implied  as  much  in  her  clever,  teasing,  funny  way, 
more  than  once. 

And  the  thought  of  Bubbles  unexpectedly  brought  up 


160       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

another  image — that  of  James  Tapster.  Of  the  little 
party  gathered  together  at  Wyndfell  Hall,  Tapster  was  the 
one  whom  the  doctor  felt  he  really  didn't  like.  He  couldn't 
imagine  why  Varick  had  asked  that  disagreeable  fellow 
here! 

While  the  men  were  still  in  the  dining-room,  and 
Varick  had  gone  out  for  a  moment  to  look  for  some  very 
special,  new  kind  of  cigarette  which  had  come  down  from 
London  a  day  or  two  before,  Tapster  had  spoken  very 
disagreeably  of  the  richness  of  the  French  chefs  cooking. 
He  had  seemed  to  think  it  an  outrage  that  something  of 
a  special,  very  plain,  nature  had  not  been  provided  for 
him  every  day,  and  he  had  hinted  that  perhaps  the  doctor 
could  suggest  some  antidote  to  all  this  richness!  There 
was  another  reason,  so  Panton's  sleepy  mind  told  him, 
why  he  didn't  like  his  sulky,  plain  fellow-guest.  It  be- 
came suddenly,  unexpectedly,  clear  to  him  that  Tapster 
was  much  taken  with  Miss  Bubbles.  The  man  had  hardly 
taken  his  eyes  off  her  during  the  whole  of  dinner,  and  it 
had  been  a  disagreeable,  appraising  look — as  if  he  couldn't 
quite  make  up  his  mind  what  she  was  worth!  He  told 
himself,  while  remembering  that  look,  that  Tapster  was 
the  kind  of  man  who  is  always  hesitating,  always  absorbed 
in  some  woman,  and  yet  always  afraid  to  try  his  luck — 
in  the  hope  that  if  he  waits,  he  may  do  better  next  time! 
Miss  Bubbles  was  a  hundred  times  too  good  for  such  a 
fellow,  however  rich  the  fellow  might  be.  ... 

Gradually  Panton  felt  himself  slipping  off  into  that 
pleasant  condition  which  immediately  precedes  a  dream- 
less, healthful  sleep. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  his  senses  became  keenly  alert, 
for  a  curious  sound  became  audible  in  the  darkening 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       161 

room.  It  was  without  doubt  a  sound  created  by  some 
industrious  mouse,  or  perhaps — though  that  idea  was  a 
less  pleasant  one — by  a  greedy  rat.  Swish,  swish — swish 
— just  like  the  rustling  of  a  lady's  silk  dress ! 

Panton  stretched  out  his  right  arm,  and  knocked  the 
wall  behind  him  sharply  twice  or  thrice,  and  the  sound 
stopped  suddenly.  But  after  a  few  minutes,  just  as  he 
was  dropping  off,  it  began  again.  But  it  no  longer  startled 
him,  as  it  had  done  the  first  time,  and  soon  he  was  fast 
asleep. 

It  might  have  been  a  moment,  it  might  have  been  an 
hour,  later,  when  there  came  a  sudden,  urgent  knocking  at 
his  door.  He  sat  up  in  bed. 

"Come  in,"  he  called  out,  now  wide  awake. 

The  door  opened  slowly — and  there  came  through  it  a 
curious-looking  figure.  It  was  James  Tapster,  arrayed  in 
a  wonderful  dressing-gown  made  of  Persian  shawls,  and 
edged  with  fur.  He  held  a  candlestick  in  his  hand,  and 
the  candle  threw  up  a  flickering  light  on  his  pallid, 
alarmed-looking  face. 

"Dr.  Panton,"  he  whispered,  "I  wish  you'd  come  out 
here  a  moment." 

And  the  doctor,  cursing  his  bad  luck,  and  feeling  what 
he  very  seldom  felt,  thoroughly  angry,  said  ungraciously : 
"What  is  the  matter?  Can't  you  tell  me  without  my 
getting  out  of  bed?" 

Last  night's  excellent  dinner,  which  couldn't  have  hurt 
any  healthy  man,  had  evidently  upset  the  unhealthy  mil- 
lionaire. 

"Can't  you  hear?"  whispered  Tapster.  His  teeth  were 
chattering;  he  certainly  looked  very  ill. 

"Hear!    Hear  what?" 


1 62        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Tapster  held  up  his  hand.  And  then,  yes,  the  man 
sitting  up  in  the  big  four-post  bed  did  hear  some  very- 
curious  noises.  It  was  as  if  furniture  was  being  thrown 
violently  about,  and  as  if  crockery  was  being  smashed — 
but  a  very,  very  long  way  off. 

This  was  certainly  most  extraordinary !  He  had  done 
Tapster  an  injustice. 

He  jumped  out  of  bed.  "Wait  a  minute!'5  he  ex- 
claimed. 'Til  get  my  dressing-gown,  and  we'll  go  and 
see  what  it's  all  about.  What  extraordinary  sounds! 
Where  on  earth  do  they  come  from?" 

"They  come  from  the  servants'  quarters,"  said  Tapster. 

There  came  a  sudden  silence,  and  then  an  awful  crash. 

"How  long  have  these  noises  gone  on  ?"  asked  Panton. 

He  had  put  on  his  dressing-gown,  and  was  now  looking 
for  his  slippers. 

"Oh,  for  a  long  time." 

Tapster's  hand  was  trembling,  partly  from  excitement, 
partly  from  fear.  "How  d'you  account  for  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"One  of  the  servants  has  gone  mad  drunk,"  replied 
Panton  briefly.  "That's  what  it  is — without  a  doubt! 
We'd  better  go  down  and  see  what  can  be  done." 

And  then,  as  there  came  the  distant  sounds  of  breaking 
glass,  he  exclaimed:  "I  wonder  everyone  hasn't  woken 
up!" 

"There  is  a  heavy  padded  door  between  that  part  of  the 
house  and  this.  My  room  is  on  the  other  side,  over  what 
they  call  the  school-room.  I  left  the  padded  door  open 
just  now  when  I  came  through — in  fact  I  fastened  it 
back." 

"That  wasn't  a  very  clever  thing  to  do!" 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       163 

The  doctor  did  not  speak  pleasantly,  but  Tapster  took 
no  offence. 

"I — I  wanted  someone  to  hear,"  he  said  humbly;  "I  felt 
so  shut  off  through  there." 

"Still,  there's  no  use  in  waking  everybody  else  up,"  said 
Panton,  in  a  businesslike  tone. 

He  didn't  look  forward  to  the  job  which  he  thought  lay 
before  him;  but,  of  course,  it  wasn't  the  first  time  he  had 
been  called  in  to  help  calm  a  man  who  had  become  violent 
under  the  influence  of  drink.  "Go  on,"  he  said  curtly. 
"Show  me  the  way !  I  suppose  there's  a  back  staircase  by 
which  we  can  go  down  ?" 

He  followed  his  guide  along  the  broad  corridor  to  a 
heavy  green  baize  door.  Stooping,  he  undid  the  hook 
which  fastened  the  door  back.  It  swung  to,  and,  as  it 
did  so,  there  came  a  sudden,  complete  cessation  of  the 
noise. 

"Hullo!"  he  said  to  himself,  "that's  odd." 

The  two  men  waited  for  what  seemed  to  Panton  a  long 
time,  but  in  reality  it  was  less  than  five  minutes. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  into  my  room  for  a  few 
moments?  I  wish  you  would,"  said  Mr.  Tapster  plain- 
tively. 

Unwillingly  the  doctor  walked  through  into  what  was 
certainly  a  very  pleasant,  indeed  a  luxurious  room.  It 
was  furnished  in  a  more  modern  way  than  the  other  rooms 
at  Wyndfell  Hall.  "There's  a  bath-room  off  this  room. 
That's  why  Varick,  who's  a  good-natured  chap,  gave  it 
me.  He  knows  I  have  a  great  fear  of  catching  a  chill," 
whispered  Mr.  Tapster. 

"We'd  better  go  down,"  said  the  doctor  at  last. 


1 64       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"D'you  think  so?  But  the  noise  has  stopped,  and, 
after  all,  it  is  no  business  of  ours." 

Dr.  Panton  did  not  tell  the  other  what  was  really  in  his 
mind.  This  was  that  the  man  who  had  now  become  so 
curiously  quiet  might  unwittingly  have  done  a  mischief 
to  himself.  All  he  said  was :  "I  have  a  feeling  that  I 
ought  to  go  down,  at  any  rate." 

The  words  had  hardly  left  his  lips  before  the  noises 
began  again,  and,  of  course,  from  where  the  two  men 
were  now,  they  sounded  far  louder  than  they  had  done 
from  the  doctor's  bed-room.  Heavy  furniture  was  un- 
doubtedly being  thrown  about,  and  again  there  came  those 
curious  crashes,  as  if  plates  and  dishes  were  being  dashed 
against  the  wall  and  broken  there  in  a  thousand  pieces. 

"I  say,  this  won't  do !"  Quickly  he  went  towards  the 
door,  and  as  he  reached  the  corridor  he  saw  the  swing 
door  between  the  two  parts  of  the  house  open,  and  Miss 
Farrow  came  through,  looking  her  well-bred,  composed 
self,  and  wearing,  incidentally,  a  short,  neat,  becoming 
dressing-gown. 

"I  can't  think  what's  happening!"  she  exclaimed.  She 
looked  from  the  one  man  to  the  other.  "What  can  be 
happening  downstairs?" 

As  Panton  made  no  answer,  Mr.  Tapster  replied  for 
them  both:  "The  doctor  thinks  one  of  the  servants  got 
drunk  last  night." 

"Yes,  that  must  be  it,  of  course.  I'll  go  down  and  see 
who  it  is,"  she  said  composedly. 

But  Dr.  Panton  broke  in  authoritatively :  "No,  indeed, 
Miss  Farrow!  If  it's  what  I  think  it  is,  the  fellow  will 
probably  be  violent.  You'd  better  let  me  go  down  alone 
and  deal  with  him." 


I 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   ,165 

There  had  come  again  that  extraordinary,  sudden  still- 
ness. 

"I  think  I'd  rather  come  down  with  you,"  she  said 
coolly. 

All  three  started  going  down  the  narrow,  steep  wooden 
staircase  which  connected  that  portion  of  the  upper  floor 
with  the  many  rambling  offices  of  the  old  house. 

Tapster  and  Blanche  Farrow  each  held  a  candle,  but 
Dr.  Panton  led  the  way ;  and  soon  they  were  treading  the 
whitewashed  passages,  even  their  slippered  feet  making,  in 
the  now  absolute  stillness,  what  sounded  like  loud  thuds 
on  the  stone  floor. 

"Listen!"  said  Blanche  suddenly. 

They  all  stood  still,  and  there  came  a  strange  fluttering 
sound.  It  was  as  if  a  bird  had  got  in  through  a  window, 
and  was  trying  to  find  a  way  out. 

"D'you  know  the  way  to  the  kitchen?  I  think  that 
the  man  must  be  in  the  kitchen,  or  probably  the  pantry," 
whispered  the  doctor  to  his  hostess. 

"I  think  it's  this  way." 

Miss  Farrow  led  them  down  a  short  passage  to  the 
right,  and  cautiously  opened  a  door  which  led  into  the 
kitchen. 

And  then  they  all  three  uttered  exclamations  of  amaze- 
ment and  of  horror.  Holding  her  candle  high  in  her  hand, 
their  hostess  was  now  lighting  up  a  scene  of  extraordinary 
and  of  widespread  disorder. 

It  was  as  if  a  tornado  had  whirled  through  the  vast, 
low-ceilinged  kitchen.  Heavy  tables  lay  on  their  sides  and 
upside  down,  their  legs  in  the  air.  Most  of  the  crockery — 
fortunately,  so  Blanche  said  to  herself,  kitchen  crockery — 
off  the  big  dresser  lay  smashed  in  large  and  small  pieces 


1 66       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

here,  there,  and  everywhere.  A  large  copper  preserving- 
pan  lay  grotesquely  sprawling  on  the  well-scrubbed  centre 
table,  which  was  the  one  thing  which  had  not  been  moved 
— probably  because  of  its  great  weight.  And  yet — and 
yet  it  had  been  moved — for  it  was  all  askew !  The  man 
who  did  that,  if,  indeed,  one  man  could  alone  have  done 
all  this  mischief,  must  have  been  very,  very  strong — a 
Hercules ! 

The  doctor  took  the  candle  from  Miss  Farrow's  hand 
and  walked  in  among  the  debris.  "He  must  have  gone 
through  that  door,"  he  muttered. 

Leaving  her  to  be  joined  by  the  timorous  James  Tap- 
ster, he  went  boldly  on  across  the  big  kitchen,  and  through 
a  door  which  gave  into  what  appeared  to  be  a  scullery. 
But  here  everything  was  in  perfect  order. 

"Where  can  the  man  have  gone  ?"  he  asked  himself  in 
astonishment. 

Before  him  there  rose  a  vision  of  the  respectable  old 
butler,  and  of  the  two  tall,  well-matched,  but  not  physical-, 
ly  strong-looking  footmen.  This  must  be  the  work  of 
some  man  he  had  not  yet  seen?  Of  course  there  must  be 
many  men  employed  about  such  a  place  as  was  Wyndfell 
Hall. 

He  retraced  his  steps.  "I  think  you  and  Mr.  Tap- 
ster had  better  go  upstairs  again,  and  leave  me  to  this," 
he  said  decidedly.  "I'll  have  a  thorough  hunt  through  the 
place,  and  it'll  probaby  take  some  time.  Perhaps  the 
man's  taken  refuge  in  the  pantry.  By  the  way,  where  do 
the  servants  sleep?" 

"Oddly  enough,  they're  none  of  them  sleeping  in  the 
house,"  said  Blanche  quietly.  "They're  down  at  what  are 
called  'the  cottages.'  You  may  have  seen  a  row  of  pretty 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   .167 

little  buildings  not  very  far  from  the  gate  giving  on  to 
the  high  road?  Those  cottages  belong  to  Mr.  Varick. 
They're  quite  comfortable,  and  we  thought  it  best  to  put 
all  the  servants  together  there.  When  I  say  all  the 
servants" — she  corrected  herself  quickly — "the  ladies' 
maids  and  Mr.  Tapster's  valet  all  sleep  in  the  house.  But 
Mr.  Varick  and  I  agreed  that  it  would  be  better  to  put 
the  whole  of  the  temporary  staff  down  together  in  the 
cottages." 

"In  that  case  I  think  it's  very  probable  that  the  man, 
when  he  realized  the  mischief  he'd  done,  bolted  out  of 
doors.  However,  I  may  as  well  have  a  look  round." 

'Til  come  with  you,"  said  Blanche  decidedly.  She 
turned  to  Mr.  Tapster :  "I  think  you'd  better  go  upstairs, 
and  try  and  finish  your  night  more  comfortably." 

She  spoke  quite  graciously.  Blanche  was  the  one  of 
the  party  who  really  tolerated  Mr.  Tapster — Blanche  and 
Mr.  Tapster's  host. 

"All  right,  I  think  I  will.  Though  I  feel  rather  a  brute 
at  leaving  you  to  do  the  dirty  work,"  he  muttered. 

He  set  off  down  the  passage ;  and  then,  a  few  moments 
later,  he  had  to  call  out  and  ask  Miss  Farrow  to  show  him 
the  way — he  had  lost  himself ! 

It  took  a  long  time  to  search  through  the  big  commons 
of  the  ancient  dwelling.  There  were  innumerable  little 
rooms  now  converted  into  store  cupboards,  larders,  and 
so  on.  But  everything  was  in  perfect  order — the  kitchen 
alone  being  in  that,  as  yet,  inexplicable  condition  of  wreck- 
age. 

But  at  last  their  barren  quest  was  ended,  and  they  came 
up  the  narrow  staircase  on  much  more  cordial  and  kindly 
terms  with  one  another  than  either  would  have  thought 


1 68        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

possible  some  hours  before.  Then  the  doctor,  with  an 
"Allow  me,"  pushed  in  front  of  Miss  Farrow  in  order  to 
open  wide  the  heavy  padded  door.  "I  wonder  that  you 
heard  anything  through  this !"  he  exclaimed. 

She  answered,  "I  was  awakened  by  Mr.  Tapster  talk- 
ing to  you.  Then,  of  course,  I  heard  those  appalling 
noises — for  he  had  left  the  padded  door  open.  I  got 
up  and,  opening  my  own  door,  listened,  after  you  had 
both  gone  through.  When  there  came  that  final  awful 
crash  I  felt  I  must  go  and  see  what  had  happened !" 


CHAPTER  XV 

QBIRITS?  What  absolute  bosh!  Miss  Bubbles  has 
J3  been  pulling  your  leg,  Varick.  And  yet  one  would 
like  to  know  who  has  been  at  the  bottom  of  it  all — 
whether,  as  you  say  the  butler  evidently  believes,  it  is  the 
chef  himself,  or,  as  the  chef  told  you,  one  of  the  under- 
servants.  In  any  case,  I  hope  no  one  will  suppose  that 
that  sort  of  thing  can  be  owing  to  a  supernatural  agency." 

"Yet  John  Wesley  did  so  suppose  when  that  sort  of 
thing  happened  in  the  Wesley  household,"  came  in  the 
quiet  voice  of  Sir  Lyon. 

The  three  men — Dr.  Panton,  Sir  Lyon,  and  Lionel 
Varick — were  taking  a  walk  along  the  high  road.  It  was 
only  eleven  o'clock,  but  it  seemed  much  later  than  that  to 
two  of  them,  for  all  the  morning  they  had  been  busy.  An 
hour  of  it  had  been  taken  up  with  a  very  close  examina- 
tion of  the  servants,  especially  of  the  respectable  butler 
and  of  the  French  chef.  They  had  both  professed  them- 
selves, together  and  separately,  as  entirely  unable  to  ac- 
count for  what  had  happened  in  the  night.  But  still,  it 
had  been  clear  to  the  three  who  had  taken  part  in  the 
examination — Blanche  Farrow,  Varick,  and  the  doctor — 
that  the  butler  believed  the  chef  to  be  responsible.  "It's 
that  Frenchman;  they're  tricky  kind  of  fellows,  ma'am/' 
the  man  had  said  in  a  confidential  aside.  And,  though  the 
chef  was  less  willing  to  speak,  it  was  equally  clear  that  he, 
on  his  side,  put  it  down  to  one  of  the  under-servants. 

169 


i yo       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Then,  quite  at  the  end  of  the  interrogation,  they  had 
all  been  startled  by  not  only  the  chef,  but  the  butler  also, 
suddenly  admitting  that  something  very  like  what  hap- 
pened last  night  had  happened  twice  before !  But  on  the 
former  occasions,  though  everything  in  the  kitchen  had 
been  moved,  including  the  heavy  centre  table,  nothing 
had  been  broken.  Still,  it  had  taken  the  chef  and  his 
kitchen-maids  two  hours  to  put  everything  right.  That 
had  happened,  so  was  now  revealed,  on  the  very  morning 
after  the  party  had  just  been  gathered  together.  And 
then,  again,  four  days  ago. 

Miss  Burnaby,  who  had  slept  through  everything,  ex- 
claimed, when  the  happenings  of  the  night  before  were 
told  her  by  Mr.  Tapster,  "The  place  seems  bewitched!  I 
shall  never  forget  what  happened  yesterday  afternoon  to 
Helen."  Turning  to  Dr.  Panton,  she  continued:  "My 
niece  actually  believes  that  she  saw  a  ghost  yesterday !" 

Helen  said  sharply,  "I  thought  nothing  was  to  be  said 
about  that,  Auntie." 

Meanwhile  the  doctor  stared  at  her,  hardly  believing 
the  evidence  of  his  own  ears.  "You  thought  you  saw  a 
ghost?"  he  said  incredulously. 

And  Helen,  turning  away,  answered :  "I  would  so  much 
rather  not  speak  about  it.  I  don't  want  even  to  think 
about  it  ever  again !" 

An  hour  later,  as  Panton  and  Sir  Lyon  stood  outside 
the  house  waiting  for  Varick,  the  doctor  said  a  word  to 
the  other  man:  "A  most  extraordinary  thing  happened 
here  yesterday.  Miss  Brabazon  apparently  believes  she 
saw  a  ghost." 

"Did  she  tell  you  so  herself?"  asked  Sir  Lyon  quietly. 

"No,  her  aunt  mentioned  it,  quite  as  if  it  was  an  ordi- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP        171 

nary  incident.  But  I  could  see  that  it  was  true,  for  she 
was  very  much  upset,  and  said  she  would  rather  not  speak 
of  it." 

They  had  then  been  joined  by  their  host,  and  when  once 
through  the  gate,  the  doctor's  first  words  had  proved  that 
his  mind  was  still  full  of  all  that  had  happened  in  the 
night. 

"Surely  you  don't  put  down  what  happened  last  night 
to  a  supernatural  agency' 

He  was  addressing  Sir  Lyon,  and  though  he  spoke 
quite  civilly,  there  was  an  under-current  of  sarcasm  in  his 
pleasant,  confident  voice. 

"At  one  time  I  was  very  deeply  interested  in  what  I 
think  one  may  call  the  whole  range  of  psychic  phe- 
nomena," replied  Sir  Lyon  deliberately,  "and  I  came  to 
certain  very  definite  conclusions " 

"And  what,"  said  Varick,  with  a  touch  of  real  eager- 
ness, "were  those  conclusions  ?" 

Till  now  he  had  not  joined  in  the  discussion. 

"For  one  thing,  I  very  soon  made  up  my  mind  that  a 
great  deal  of  what  occurs  at  every  properly  conducted 
seance  can  by  no  means  be  dismissed  as  'all  bosh/  "  an- 
swered Sir  Lyon. 

"Do  you  consider  that  the  seance  which  took  place  the 
first  evening  you  were  here  was  a  properly  conducted 
seance?"  asked  Varick  slowly. 

"Yes — as  far  as  I  was  able  to  ascertain — it  was.  I  felt 
convinced,  for  instance,  that  Laughing  Water  was  a  sep- 
arate entity — that  was  why  I  asked  her  to  pass  me  by. 
To  me  there  is  something  indecent  about  an  open  seance. 
I  have  always  felt  that  very  strongly ;  and  what  happened 


172       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

that  evening  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Burnaby  of  course  con- 
firmed my  feeling." 

Varick  uttered  under  his  breath  an  exclamation  of  in- 
credulous amazement.  "D'you  mean  that  you  believe 
there  was  a  spirit  present  ?  It  would  take  some  time  to  do 
it,  but  I  think  I  could  prove  that  it  was  what  I  took  it  to 
be — thought-reading  of  quite  an  exceptional  quality, 
joined  to  a  clever  piece  of  acting." 

"You'd  find  it  more  difficult  than  you  think  to  prove 
that,"  said  Sir  Lyon  quietly.  "I've  been  to  too  many 
seances  to  be  able  to  accept  that  point  of  view.  I  feel  sure 
that  Miss  Bubbles  was  what  they  call  'controlled'  by  a 
separate  entity  calling  herself  'Laughing  Water.'  But  if 
you  ask  me  what  sort  of  entity,  then  I  cannot  reply." 

Panton  turned  on  him:  "Then  you're  a  spiritualist?" 
he  exclaimed.  "Of  course  I  was  quite  unaware  of  that 
fact  when  I  spoke  just  now." 

There  was  an  underlying  touch  of  scorn  in  his  voice. 

"No,  I  do  not  call  myself  a  spiritualist.  But  still — yes, 
I  accept  the  term,  if  by  it  you  mean  that  I  believe  there  is 
no  natural  explanation  for  certain  of  the  phenomena  we 
have  seen,  or  heard  of,  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours." 

He  purposely  did  not  allude  to  what  had  happened  be- 
tween tea  and  dinner  in  the  hall  last  evening,  but  he  felt 
certain  that  it  was  very  present  to  Varick  himself. 

"I  spoke  just  now  of  the  curious  occurrences  in  the 
Wesley  household,"  he  observed,  turning  to  the  young 
doctor.  "That,  of  course,  is  the  most  famous  case  on 
record  of  the  sort  of  thing  which  took  place  in  the  kitchen 
last  night." 

"But  why,"  cried  Varick,  with  a  touch  of  excitement, 
"why  should  all  these  things  happen  just  now  at  Wyndfell 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       173 

Hall  ?  I  know,  of  course,  the  story  of  the  haunted  room. 
But  most  old  houses  have  one  respectable  ghost  attached 
to  them.  I  don't  mind  the  ghost  Pegler  fancies  she  saw — 
but,  good  heavens,  the  place  now  seems  full  of  tricksy 
spirits !  Still,  it's  an  odd  fact  that  none  of  the  servants, 
with  the  one  exception  of  Miss  Farrow's  maid,  have  seen 
anything  out  of  the  way." 

Here  the  doctor  broke  in:  "That's  easily  accounted 
for!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  understand  from  Miss  Farrow 
that  her  maid — a  remarkable  person  without  doubt — has 
held  her  tongue  ever  since  she  saw,  or  thought  she  saw,  a 
ghost.  But  if  the  other  servants  knew  everything  we 
know,  there'd  be  no  holding  them — there'd  be  no  ser- 
vants!" 

"Of  course,  I  admit  that  in  the  great  majority  of  in- 
stances those  who  think  they  see  what's  commonly  called 
a  ghost  probably  see  no  ghost  at  all,"  said  Sir  Lyon 
thoughtfully.  "They've  heard  that  a  ghost  is  there,  and 
therefore  they  think  they  see  it." 

"Then,"  said  Varick,  turning  on  him,  "you  don't  be- 
lieve Pegler  did  see  the  ghost  of  Dame  Grizel  Fauncey?" 

Sir  Lyon  smiled.  "I  daresay  you'll  think  me  very 
illogical,  but  in  this  one  case  I  think  Pegler  did  see  what 
is  commonly  called  a  ghost.  And  I'll  tell  you  why  I  think 
so." 

Both  men  turned  and  looked  at  him  fixedly,  both  in 
their  several  ways  being  much  surprised  by  his  words. 

"I  have  discovered,"  said  Sir  Lyon  in  a  rather  singular 
tone,  "that  this  woman  Pegler  saw  nothing  for  the  first 
few  days  she  occupied  the  haunted  room." 

Panton  stared  at  the  speaker  with  an  astonished  ex- 


174       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

pression.  "What  exactly  do  you  mean  to  imply?"  he 
asked. 

Sir  Lyon  hesitated.  He  was,  in  some  of  his  ways,  very 
old-fashioned.  It  was  not  pleasant  to  him  to  bring  a 
lady's  name  into  a  discussion.  And  yet  he  felt  impelled 
to  go  on,  for  what  had  happened  in  the  hall  yesterday 
afternoon  had  moved  and  interested  him  as  he  had  not 
thought  to  be  interested  and  moved  again. 

"The  woman  saw  nothing,"  he  said,  slowly  and  im- 
pressively, "till  Miss  Dunster  arrived  at  Wyndfell  Hall. 
I  take  that  to  mean  that  Miss  Dunster  is  a  very  strong 
medium." 

"A  medium?"  repeated  the  doctor  scoffingly.  "Who 
says  medium  surely  says  charlatan,  Sir  Lyon — not  to  say 
something  worse  than  charlatan!" 

Sir  Lyon  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  younger  man.  "I 
admit  that  often  mediums  are  charlatans — or  rather,  they 
begin  by  being  mediums  pure  and  simple,  and  they  end 
by  being  mediums  qua  charlatans.  The  temptations  which 
lie  in  their  way  are  terrible,  especially  if,  as  in  the  ma- 
jority of  cases,  they  make  a  living  by  their — their" — he 
hesitated — "their  extraordinary,  as  yet  misunderstood, 
and  generally  mishandled  gift." 

"Do  you  mean,"  asked  Varick  gravely,  "that  you  be- 
lieve Bubbles  possesses  the  power  of  raising  the  dead  ?" 

Sir  Lyon  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  at  last  he  said 
firmly :  "Either  the  dead,  or  some  class  of  intermediate 
spirits  who  personate  the  human  dead.  Yes,  Varick,  that 
is  exactly  what  I  do  mean." 

All  three  men  stopped  in  their  now  slow  pacing.  Dr. 
Panton  felt  too  much  surprised  to  speak. 

Sir  Lyon  went  on :  "I  think  that  Miss  Bubbles'  arrival 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP      '175 

at  Wyndf  ell  Hall  made  visible,  and  is  still  making  visible, 
much  that  would  otherwise  remain  unseen." 

As  he  caught  the  look  of  incredulous  amazement  on 
the  doctor's  face,  he  repeated  very  deliberately :  "That 
is  my  considered  opinion.  As  I  said  just  now,  I  have  had 
a  very  considerable  experience  of  psychic  phenomena,  and 
I  realized,  during  that  seance  which  was  held  the  first 
evening  I  spent  here,  that  this  young  lady  possessed 
psychic  gifts  of  a  very  extraordinary  nature.  There  is 
no  doubt  at  all,  in  my  mind,  that  were  she  a  professional 
medium,  her  fame  would  by  now  be  world-wide." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  derisive,  incredulous  look  on  the 
young  medical  man's  face  which  stung  him  into  adding : 
"If  I  understand  rightly" — he  turned  to  Varick — "some- 
thing very  like  what  I  should  call  an  impromptu  material- 
ization took  place  in  the  hall  yesterday — is  that  not  so?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Twice  Varick  cleared  his  throat. 
Who  had  broken  faith  and  told  Sir  Lyon  what  had  hap- 
pened? He  supposed  it  to  have  been  Miss  Burnaby. 
"Though  I  was  present,"  he  said  at  last,  "I,  myself,  saw 
absolutely  nothing." 

"I,  too,  have  heard  something  of  it!"  exclaimed  Dr. 
Panton,  looking  from  one  of  his  two  now  moved,  embar- 
rassed, and  excited  companions  to  the  other.  "And  you 
were  actually  present  when  it  happened,  Varick?" 

As  the  other  remained  silent,  he  turned  to  Sir  Lyon. 
"What  was  it  exactly  Miss  Brabazon  thought  she  saw  ?" 

Sir  Lyon,  after  a  glance  at  Varick's  pale,  set  face,  was 
sorry  that  he  had  mentioned  the  curious,  painful  occur- 
rence; and,  though  he  was  a  truthful  man,  he  now  told 
a  deliberate  lie.  "I  don't  know  what  the  apparition  pur- 
ported to  be,"  he  observed.  And  he  saw,  even  as  he  was 


176       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

uttering  the  lying  words,  a  look  of  intense  relief  come  over 
Varick's  face.  "But  to  my  mind  Miss  Brabazon  evidently 
saw  the  rare  phenomenon  known  as  a  materialization. 
Miss  Bubbles  was  lying  asleep  in  the  confessional  which 
is  almost  exactly  opposite  the  door  through  which  one 
enters  the  hall  from  the  house  side,  thus  the  necessary 
conditions  were  present." 

"I  wish  /  had  been  present!"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 
"Either  I  should  have  seen  nothing,  or,  if  I  had  seen 
anything,  I  should  have  managed  to  convince  myself  that 
what  I  saw  was  flesh  and  blood." 

As  neither  of  his  two  companions  said  anything  in 
answer  to  that  observation,  Panton  went  on,  speaking 
with  more  hesitation,  but  also  with  more  seriousness  than 
he  had  yet  shown:  "Do  I  understand  you  to  mean,  Sir 
Lyon,  that  you  credit  our  young  fellow-guest  with  super- 
natural gifts  denied  to  the  common  run  of  mortals?" 

"I  should  not  put  it  quite  that  way,"  answered  Sir 
Lyon.  "But  yes,  I  suppose  I  must  admit  that  I  do  credit 
Miss  Bubbles  with  powers  which  no  one  as  yet  has  been 
able  to  analyze  or  explain — though  a  great  many  more 
intelligent  people  than  has  ever  been  the  case  before,  are 
trying  to  find  a  natural  explanation." 

"If  that  is  so,"  asked  the  doctor,  "why  have  you  your- 
self given  up  such  an  extraordinarily  important  and  val- 
uable investigation?" 

"Because,"  said  Sir  Lyon,  "I  consider  my  own  personal 
investigations  yielded  a  definite  result/* 

"And  that  result ?" 

" was  that  what  I  prefer  to  call  by  the  old  term 

of  occultism  makes  for  evil  rather  than  for  good.  Also, 
I  became  convinced  that  the  practice  of  these  arts  has 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   ^77 

been,  so  to  speak,  put  'out  of  bounds' — I  can  think  of  no 
better  expression — by  whatever  Power  it  be  that  rules  our 
strange  world." 

He  spoke  earnestly  and  slowly,  choosing  his  words  with 
care. 

"If  your  theory  contains  a  true  answer  to  the  investi- 
gations which  are  now  taking  place,"  exclaimed  the  doc- 
tor, "there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  said  for  those  mediaeval' 
folk  who  burnt  sorcerers  and  witches!  I  suppose  you 
would  admit  that  they  were  right  in  their  belief  that  by  so 
doing  they  were  getting  rid  of  very  dangerous,  as  well  as 
unpleasant,  elements  from  out  of  their  midst?" 

The  speaker  looked  hard  at  Sir  Lyon.  Nothing,  as  he 
told  himself,  with  some  excitement,  had  ever  astonished 
him,  or  taken  him  so  aback,  as  was  now  doing  this  con- 
versation with  an  intelligent,  cultivated  man  who  seemed 
to  have  broad  and  sane  views  on  most  things,  but  who 
was  evidently  as  mad  as  a  hatter  on  this  one  subject. 

And  then,  before  Sir  Lyon  had  perchance  made  up 
his  mind  what  to  answer  exactly,  Varick's  voice  broke  in : 
"Yes,"  he  observed,  smiling  a  little  grimly,  "that's  the 
logical  conclusion  of  your  view,  Dilsford.  You  can't  get 
out  of  it !  If  a  human  being  really  possesses  such  danger- 
ous powers,  the  sooner  that  human  being  is  put  out  of  the 
way  the  better." 

"No,  no!  I  don't  agree!"  Sir  Lyon  spoke  with  more 
energy  than  he  had  yet  displayed.  "Everything  points  to 
the  fact  that  those  unfortunate  people — I  mean  the  witches 
and  sorcerers  of  the  Middle  Ages — could  have  been, 
and  sometimes  were,  exorcised." 

"Exorcised?"  repeated  Panton.  He  had  never  heard 
the  word  "exorcised"  uttered  aloud  before,  though  he  had, 


178       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

of  course,  come  across  it  in  books.  "Do  you  mean  driving 
out  the  devil  by  means  of  a  religious  ceremony?"  he 
asked  incredulously. 

"Yes,"  said  Sir  Lyon,  "I  do  exactly  mean  that.  As  you 
are  probably  aware,  there  is  a  form  of  exorcism  still  in 
common  use.  And  if  I  were  our  host  here,  I  should  have 
Wyndfell  Hall  exorcised,  preferably  by  a  Roman  Catholic 
priest,  as  soon  as  Miss  Bubbles  is  safely  off  the  premises." 

The  doctor  again  looked  sharply  at  the  speaker — but 
no,  Sir  Lyon  evidently  meant  what  he  said;  and  even 
Varick  seemed  to  be  taking  the  suggestion  seriously ;  for 
"That's  not  a  bad  idea,"  he  muttered. 

The  three  men  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 

"It  would  be  interesting  to  know,"  observed  Sir  Lyon 
suddenly,  "what  Miss  Farrow  conceives  to  be  the  truth 
as  to  her  niece's  peculiar  gifts.  I  fancy,  from  something 
she  told  me  the  other  day,  that  she  hasn't  the  slightest 
belief  in  psychic  phenomena.  I  wonder  if  she  feels  the 
same  after  what  happened  yesterday  and  last  night?" 

"I  can  tell  you  exactly  what  Miss  Farrow  thinks,"  in- 
terposed Varick.  "I  had  a  word  or  two  with  her  about  it 
all  this  morning,  after  we'd  examined  the  servants  in  the 
white  parlour." 

"What  does  she  think,"  asked  Sir  Lyon.  He  had  al- 
ways been  interested  in  Blanche  Farrow,  and,  in  a  way, 
he  was  fond  of  her. 

"She  thinks,"  said  Varick,  a  little  hesitatingly,  "that 
Bubbles,  in  addition  to  her  extraordinary  thought-reading 
gift,  has  inherited  from  her  Indian  ancestress  a  power  of 
collectively  hynotizing  an  audience — of  making  people 
see  things  that  she  wants  them  to  see.  That's  rather  awk- 
wardly expressed,  but  it's  the  best  I  can  do." 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       179 

"I  quite  understand,"  broke  in  the  doctor.  "You  mean 
the  sort  of  power  which  certain  Indian  fakirs  undoubtedly 
possess?" 

"Yes,"  said  Varick.  "And,  as  I  said  just  now  Bubbles 
has  got  Indian  blood  in  her  veins.  One  of  her  ancestors 
actually  did  marry  an  Indian  lady  of  high  degree,  and 
Bubbles  is  descended  from  one  of  the  children  of  that 
marriage." 

"I  think  that  may  account  for  the  potency  of  her  gift," 
said  Sir  Lyon  thoughtfully,  "though,  of  course,  many 
Europeans  have  had,  and  now  possess,  these  curious 
powers." 

"But  though,  in  a  sense,  spiritualism  is  no  new  thing, 
even  those  who  believe  in  it  admit  that  it  has  never  led 
to  anything,"  observed  Varick  musingly. 

"Very  rarely,  I  admit;  but  still,  sometimes  even  a 
dream  has  contained  a  revelation  of  sorts.  Thus  it  is  on 
positive  record  that  a  dream  revealed  the  truth  as  to  what 
was  called  the  Murder  of  the  Red  Barn." 

"Can  I  take  it  that  you  do  believe  the  dead  return?" 
asked  the  doctor  abruptly. 

"I  think,"  said  Sir  Lyon  deliberately,  "that  certain  of 
the  dead  desire  ardently  to  return — not  always  from  the 
best  motives.  As  to  whether  they  themselves  are  per- 
mitted to  come  back,  or  whether  they  are  able  to  use 
other  entities  to  carry  out  that  purpose,  I  am  still  in 
doubt." 

As  he  spoke  he  saw  a  curious  change  come  over  Lionel 
Varick's  face.  The  rather  set  smile  with  which  he  had 
been  listening  to  the  discussion  gave  way  to  an  odd  ex- 
pression of  acute  unease.  But  at  this  particular  moment 
it  was  not  Varick  with  whom  Sir  Lyon  was  concerned,  but 


1 8o       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

with  the  frank,  eager,  pleasant-faced,  young  doctor,  in 
whose  estimation,  as  he  realized,  he  was  falling  further 
and  further  down  with  every  word  he  uttered. 

"To  tell  you  the  honest  truth,"  he  went  on,  "even  in 
the  days  when  I  did  little  else  than  attend  seances  and 
have  sittings  with  noted  mediums,  not  only  in  this  country 
but  also  on  the  Continent,  I  could  never  quite  make  up 
my  mind  whether  the  spirit  with  whom  I  was  in  communi- 
cation was  really  the  being  he  or  she  purported  to  be! 
There  was  a  time,"  he  spoke  with  some  emotion,  "when 
I  would  have  given  anything — certainly  most  willingly 
twenty  years  of  my  life — to  be  so  absolutely  convinced. 
But  there  it  is,"  he  sighed,  and  was  himself  surprised  at 
the  feeling  of  depression  which  came  over  him.  "Even 
the  most  earnest  investigation  of  the  kind  resolves  itself 
always,  after  a  while,  into  a  kind  of  will-o'-the-wisp  that 
leads  no- whither." 

"Not  always,"  exclaimed  Panton  sharply.  "Last  year 
I  had  a  patient  who'd  become  insane  owing  to  what  I 
suppose  you  would  call  an  investigation  into  psychic  phe- 


nomena." 


"And  yet,"  said  Sir  Lyon  rather  sternly,  "to  your 
mind,  Dr.  Panton,  a  pursuit  which  you  admit  was  capable 
of  leading  one  unfortunate  human  being  into  insanity,  is 
'all  bosh' !" 

"Of  course  I  could  only  go  by  what  the  poor  lady's 
friends  told  me,"  Panton  said  uncomfortably.  "She  was 
not  under  my  care  long.  But  I  need  hardly  tell  you,  Sir 
Lyon,  that  any  obsession  that  takes  hold  of  a  human  being 
may  in  time  lead  to  insanity." 

"I  suppose  that,  according  to  your  theory" — it  was  now 
Varick  who  was  speaking,  speaking  rather  lightly,  twirl- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP     '  181 

ing  his  stick  about  as  he  spoke — "I  suppose,"  he  repeated, 
"that,  according  to  your  theory,  if  Bubbles  Dunster  left 
Wyndfell  Hall  to-morrow,  the  spirits  would  cease  from 
troubling,  and  we  should  be  at  rest?'* 

"No,  that  doesn't  exactly  follow.  I  once  heard  of  a 
case  which  interested  me  very  much.  A  house  which  had 
never  been  haunted  before — as  far  as  anyone  knew — 
became  so,  following  on  the  sojourn  there  of  a  profes- 
sional medium,  and  it  remained  haunted  for  four  years. 
Then,  suddenly,  all  the  psychic  phenomena  stopped." 

"What  a  strange  thing,"  said  Panton,  with  an.  under- 
current of  irony  in  his  voice ;  "but  doubtless  the  owner  had 
had  the  house  exorcised,  as  you  call  it?" 

"No,"  said  Sir  Lyon  thoughtfully.  "No,  the  house  had 
not  been  exorcised.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  medium  was 
killed  in  a  railway  accident." 

They  walked  on,  and  fell  to  talking  of  indifferent 
things.  But  though  Sir  Lyon  had  at  one  time  held  many 
such  conversations  with  sceptical  or  interested  persons, 
this  particular  conversation  will  never  be  forgotten  by 
him,  owing  to  a  strange  occurrence  which  happened  in  the 
afternoon  of  that  same  day.  But  for  two  fortunate  facts 
— the  bravery  of  young  Donnington,  and  the  presence  of 
a  clever  medical  man — the  pleasant  comedy  in  which  they 
were  each  and  all  playing  an  attractive  part  would  have 
been  transformed  into  a  peculiarly  painful  tragedy. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WHILE  three  members  of  the  party  had  thus  been 
walking  and  talking,  the  principal  subject  of  their 
discussion,  Bubbles  Dunster,  had  gone  through  an  excit- 
ing and  unpleasant  experience. 

When  starting  out  for  a  solitary  walk  to  give  Span  a 
run,  she  saw,  with  annoyance,  James  Tapster  following 
her,  and  to  her  acute  discomfiture  he  managed  to  stam- 
mer out  what  was  tantamount  to  an  offer  of  marriage. 
Though,  in  a  sense,  she  had  certainly  tried  to  attract  him, 
she  felt,  all  at  once,  miserably  ashamed  of  her  success. 
So  much  so,  indeed,  that  she  pretended  at  first  not  to 
understand  what  he  meant.  But  at  last  she  had  to  leave 
such  pretence  aside,  and  then  it  was  she  who  surprised  Mr. 
Tapster,  for,  "You  must  let  me  have  time  to  think  over  the 
great  honour  you  have  done  me,"  she  said  quietly.  "If 
you  want  an  answer  now,  it  must  be  no." 

He  protested  sulkily  that  of  course  he  would  give  her 
as  much  time  as  she  wanted,  and  then  she  observed,  slyly, 
"I  am  sure  that  you  yourself  did  not  make  up  your 
mind  to  be  married  all  in  a  minute,  Mr.  Tapster.  You 
weighed  the  pros  and  cons  very  carefully,  no  doubt.  So 
you  must  give  me  time  to  do  so  too." 

Bubbles'  measured  words,  the  feeling  that  she  was,  so 
to  speak,  keeping  him  at  arm's  length,  took  the  hapless 
Tapster*  aback,  and  frightened  him  a  little.  He  had  felt 
so  sure  that  once  he  had  made  up  his  own  mind  she  would 

182 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP      -183 

eagerly  say  "Yes!"  Often,  during  the  last  few  days,  he 
had  told  himself,  with  a  kind  of  mirthless  chuckle,  that 
he  was  not  going  to  be  "caught";  but  when,  at  last,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  Bubbles  would  make  him,  if 
not  an  ideal,  then  a  very  suitable,  wife,  it  seemed  strange 
indeed  that  she  was  not  eager  to  "nail  him."  That  she 
was  not  exactly  eager  to  do  so  was  apparent,  even  to  him. 

Calling  Span  sharply  to  her,  the  girl  turned  round,  and 
began  making  her  way  towards  the  house  again;  finally 
she  disappeared  with  Span  in  the  direction  of  the  servants' 
quarters. 

James  Tapster,  walking  on  by  himself,  began  to  feel 
unaccountably  frightened.  He  asked  himself,  uneasily, 
almost  uttering  the  words  aloud  in  his  agitation,  whether, 
after  all,  he  had  been  "caught" ;  and  whether  Bubbles 
was  only  "making  all  this  fuss"  in  order  to  "bring  him  to 
heel"?  But  two  could  play  at  that  game.  He  toyed 
seriously,  or  so  he  believed,  with  the  idea  of  ordering  his 
motor  and  just  "bolting";  but  of  course  he  did  nothing  of 
the  kind.  The  more  Bubbles  hung  back,  the  more  he 
wanted  her ;  her  coldness  stung  him  into  something  nearer 
ardour  than  he  had  ever  felt. 

And  Bubbles?  Bubbles  felt  annoyed,  uneasy,  even  ob- 
scurely hurt.  It  often  happens  that  an  offer  of  marriage 
leaves  a  girl  feeling  lonely  and  oppressed.  Deep  in  her 
heart  she  knew  she  would  never,  never,  never,  become 
Mrs.  Tapster.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  aware  that 
there  were  many  people  in  the  London  set  among  whom 
she  now  lived  and  had  her  being,  who  would  regard  her 
as  mad  to  refuse  a  man  who,  whatever  his  peculiarities, 
possessed  enormous  wealth.  If  only  she  could  have  had 


1 84       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

u  tenth  part  of  James  Tapster's  money  without  James 
Tapster,  what  a  happy  woman  she  would  have  been! 

As  it  was,  Bubbles  told  herself  fretfully  that  she  had 
no  wish  to  be  married.  She  was  not  yet  tired  of  the  kind 
of  idle-busy  life  she  led;  it  was  an  amusing  and  stimu- 
lating life;  and  though  she  had  her  dark  hours,  when 
nothing  seemed  worth  while,  up  to  the  present  time  there 
had  been  much  more  sunshine  than  shadow.  The  girl 
was  sufficiently  clever  and  sensitive  to  realize  her  good 
fortune  in  the  matter  of  Bill  Donnington.  Sometimes, 
deep  in  her  heart,  she  told  herself  that  when  she  had  drunk 
her  cup  of  pleasure,  amusement,  and  excitement  to  the 
dregs — perhaps  in  ten  years  from  now — she  would  at  last 
reward  Donnington's  long  faithful  love  and  selfless  de- 
votion. And  rather  to  her  own  surprise,  during  the  half- 
hour  which  followed  Tapster's  uninspired  proposal,  Bub- 
bles thought  far  more  of  Donnington  than  she  did  of  the 
man  who  had  just  asked  her  to  become  his  wife. 

Sitting  all  alone  in  the  hall,  crouching  down  on  a  foot- 
stool close  to  the  fire,  for  somehow  she  felt  tired — tired, 
and  exhausted — she  made  one  definite  resolution.  She 
would  give  up,  as  far  as  she  was  able,  the  practice  of  those 
psychic  arts  which  she  knew  those  who  loved  her  be- 
lieved to  involve  a  real  danger  to  her  general  well-being. 
What  had  happened  the  afternoon  before  had  frightened 
her.  She  had  been  entirely  unconscious  of  the  awful 
phenomena  which  had  taken  place,  and  she  was  becoming 
seriously  alarmed  at  her  own  increasing  power  of  piercing 
the  veil  which  hangs  between  the  seen  and  the  unseen. 
What  she  had  told  Donnington  during  their  talk  in  the 
old  darkened  church  had  been  true :  she  often  felt  herself 
companioned  by  entities  who  boded  ill,  if  not  to  herself, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       185 

then  to  those  about  her.  Since  yesterday,  also,  there  had 
hung  heavily  over  her  mind  a  premonition  that  she,  per- 
sonally, was  in  danger.  Now  she  told  herself  that  per- 
haps the  peculiar,  disturbing  sensation  had  only  been  a 
forerunner  of  James  Tapster's  unexpected  offer  of  mar- 
riage. 

***** 

"What  would  you  say  to  our  all  going  out  for  a  walk?" 
Luncheon  was  just  over,  and  Varick  was  facing  his 
guests.  The  only  one  missing  was  Dr.  Panton,  who  had 
gone  up  to  his  room,  saying  he  had  some  work  to  do. 

"I'm  afraid  it  must  be  very  wet  and  slushy,"  said 
Blanche  Farrow  dubiously.  It  had  snowed  in  the  night, 
and  now  a  thaw  had  set  in. 

She  had  an  almost  catlike  dislike  of  wet  or  dirt;  on 
the  other  hand,  she  was  one  of  those  people  who  are  gen- 
erally willing  to  put  aside  their  own  wishes  in  favour  of 
what  those  about  them  wish  to  do;  and  she  saw  that  for 
some  reason  or  other  Lionel  Varick  wanted  this  sugges- 
tion of  his  to  be  carried  out. 

"I  can  take  you  to  a  place,"  he  exclaimed,  "where  I 
think  we  shall  find  it  dry  walking  even  to-day.  It's  a 
kind  of  causeway,  or  embankment" — he  turned  to  Helen 
Brabazon — "which  some  people  say  was  built  by  the 
Romans." 

"I  thinl.  u,  walk  would  be  very  nice,"  she  agreed. 

Helen  did  not  look  like  her  usual  cheerful,  composed 
self.  The  experience  which  had  befallen  her  the  day 
before  still  haunted  her  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  every- 
thing else.  Perhaps  a  good  long  walk  would  make  her 
feel  a  different  creature,  and  chase  that  awful  image  of 
Milly  Varick  in  her  grave-clothes  from  her  brain. 


1 86       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

And  so  in  the  end  the  whole  party  started  off,  with  the 
exception  of  Miss  Burnaby  and  Dr.  Panton.  Bubbles 
tried  hard  to  get  out  of  going  on  what  she  frankly  said 
seemed  to  her  "a  stupid  expedition,"  but  Donnington  had 
a  theory  that  the  open  air  would  do  her  good,  and  as  for 
Varick,  he  exclaimed  in  a  good-humoured  but  very  de- 
termined tone :  "If  you  won't  come,  Bubbles,  I  give  the 
whole  thing  up!"  In  a  lower  voice  he  added:  "Naughty 
as  you  are,  you're  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party." 

And  thus  it  was  to  please  Varick,  rather  than  Donning- 
ton, that  Bubbles  started  on  what  was  to  be  to  all  those 
that  took  part  in  it  a  memorable  walk. 

Poor  Donnington!  The  young  man  felt  alarmed  and 
perplexed  concerning  Bubbles'  general  condition.  He 
knew  something  that  had  shocked  and  startled  her  had 
happened  the  day  before,  but  when  he  had  tried  to  find 
out  what  it  was,  she  had  snubbed  him. 

Like  so  many  people  wiser  and  cleverer  than  himself, 
Donnington  found  it  impossible  to  make  up  his  mind 
concerning  psychic  phenomena.  When  kneeling  by 
Bubbles'  side  in  the  dimly-lit  church  he  had  accepted,  al- 
most without  question,  her  own  explanation  of  her  strange 
and  sinister  gift,  but  by  now  he  had  argued  himself  out  of 
the  belief  that  such  things  could  be  in  our  work-a-day 
world. 

There  was  someone  else  of  the  party  who  was  also  giv- 
ing a  great  deal  of  anxious  thought  to  Bubbles'  uncanny 
powers.  Blanche  Farrow,  like  Helen  Brabazon,  could 
not  banish  from  her  mind  the  experience  which  had  be- 
fallen her  in  the  hall  last  evening.  Every  time  she  looked 
at  Lionel  Varick  there  rose  before  her  that  terrible  vision 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   '187: 

of  the  two  unquiet  spirits  who  had  stood,  sentinel-wise, 
on  either  side  of  him.  .  .  . 

Again  and  again  in  the  long  watches  of  a  wakeful  night, 
Blanche  had- assured  herself  that  what  she  had  seen  was  no 
more  real  than  is  a  vivid  dream.  She  had  further  told 
herself,  taking  comfort  in  the  telling,  that  the  power  pos- 
sessed by  Bubbles  was  now  understood,  and  .accounted 
for,  by  those  learned  men  who  make  a  scientific  study  of 
hypnotism.  Yet,  try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  banish 
from  her  mind  and  from  her  memory  the  unnerving  ex- 
perience. 

They  were  crossing  the  moat  bridge*  when  there,  came  a 
shout  from  the  house.  They  all  stopped,  to  be  joined,  a 
minute  later,  by  Dr.  Panton.  "It's  an  extraordinary 
thing,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  fully  intended  to  give  up  this 
afternoon  to  writing,  but  somehow  I  suddenly  felt  as  if  I 
must  look  out  of  the  window!  You  all  looked  so  merry 
and  bright  that  I  have  thrown  my  work  to  the  winds,  and 
here  I  am,  coming  with  you." 

"I  was  rather  counting  on  you  to  keep  Miss  Burnaby 
company." 

Varick's  tone  was  not  very  pleasant,  and  Panton  for 
a  moment  regretted  he  had  come;  but  as  he  had  passed 
through  the  hall  he  had  seen  the  old  lady  nodding  over  a 
book,  and  he  was  well  aware  that  had  he  stayed  indoors, 
it  would  have  been  to  work  up  in  his  own  room. 

Bill  Donnington  suddenly  discovered  that  Bubbles  was 
wearing  absurd,  high-heeled,  London  walking  shoes.  "Go 
back  and  put  on  something  more  sensible,"  he  said  shortly; 
"I'll  wait  for  you — we'll  soon  pick  up  the  others." 

But  Bubbles  answered  sullenly:  "My  heavy  walking 
boots  got  wet  this  morning." 


1 88        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Even  as  she  spoke,  she  stood  irresolute.  Why  not 
make  her  unsuitable  foot-gear  an  excuse  for  staying  at 
home?  She  told  herself  discontentedly  that  she  hated 
the  thought  of  this  walk.  But  Donnington  would  have 
none  of  it.  "Never  mind,"  he  said  firmly,  "you  can 
change  your  shoes  and  stockings  the  minute  you  come  in." 

Bubbles  submitted  with  an  ill  grace,  and  after  the  whole 
party  were  clear  of  the  islet  on  which  stood  Wyndfell 
Hall,  she  refused  pettishly  to  walk  anywhere  near  him. 
She  hung  behind,  even  rejecting  the  company  of  James 
Tapster,  to  whom,  however,  she  was  for  the  most  part 
fitfully  gracious;  and  when,  at  length,  the  whole  party 
were  sorting  themselves  into  couples,  she  found  herself 
walking  last  with  Varick,  the  others  being  all  in  front  of 
them. 

Varick  was  disagreeably  conscious  that  with  his  present 
companion  his  charm  of  manner — that  something  which 
drew  to  him  all  women  and  most  men — availed  him  not 
at  all.  Still,  to-day,  he  was  determined  to  get  on  good 
terms  with  Bubbles.  So  well  did  he  succeed  that  at  last 
something  impelled  her  to  say  rather  penitently :  "I  want 
to  tell  you  that  what  happened  yesterday  afternoon  was 
not  my  fault,  and  that  I'm  very  sorry  it  happened, 
Lionel." 

Donnington,  who  was  just  in  front,  heard  Varick  an- 
swer, lightly :  "You  can  hardly  expect  me  to  believe  that, 
Bubbles !  But  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  know  how  you 
do  it  ?"  As  she  made  no  answer,  he  went  on :  "It's  a  re- 
markable thing  to  be  able  to  will  people  into  seeing  some- 
thing which  is  not  there!" 

Donnington  strained  his  ears  to  hear  the  low,  defiant 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       189 

answer:  "I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  that  I  knew 
nothing,  nothing,  till  you  came  and  woke  me  up!" 

What  was  it  that  had  happened  yesterday  ?  The  young 
man  felt  almost  unbearably  anxious  to  know.  All  he 
knew  was  that  it  had  greatly  affected,  surprised,  and  dis- 
turbed those  who  had  been  there. 

Suddenly  Varick's  tones  floated  again  towards  the 
listener :  "I'll  take  your  word  for  it,  my  dear  girl.  After 
all,  it's  all  in  the  picture.  What  with  our  ghosts,  our 
practical  jokes,  and  so  on,  we're  having  a  regular  old- 
fashioned  Christmas !  Still,  when  I  heard  Miss  Brabazon 
give  that  dreadful  cry,  I  did  feel  that  one  could  have  too 
much  of  a  good  thing." 

Even  Donnington  detected  the  false  bonhomie  in 
Varick's  voice. 

Bubbles  laughed  back,  not  very  pleasantly.  "I  did  you 
a  good  turn  when  I  got  rid  of  Mr.  Burnaby.  I  thor- 
oughly scared  him!  Your  nice  young  doctor's  a  very 
good  exchange  for  that  disagreeable  old  man." 

"Yes,  and  Panton's  a  very  clever  fellow,  as  well  as  one 
of  the  best,"  said  Varick  heartily.  "I  am  glad  he  man- 
aged to  get  out  this  afternoon." 

"I  thought  you  didn't  want  him  to  come,"  said  Bub- 
bles sharply. 

"I  knew  he  had  some  important  work  to  finish." 

Varick  felt  annoyed.  Somehow  Bubbles  always  seemed 
to  be  convicting  him  of  insincerity. 

They  were  now  close  to  the  embankment,  of  which 
their  host  had  drawn  an  attractive  picture.  But  Blanche 
looked  up  at  it  with  some  dismay.  The  scene  under  the 
wintry  sky  looked  wild  and  singularly  dreary.  Many  of 
the  fields  were  under  water,  and  stretches  of  the  marshy 


;i9o   FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

land  were  still  covered  with  wide  streaks  of  snow.  Across 
the  now  sullen-looking,  cloudy  sky  there  moved  a  long 
processional  flight  of  cawing  rooks. 

The  whole  party  closed  up  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
they  walked  up  the  steps  which  led  to  the  high  causeway 
along  which  Varick  had  promised  his  friends  a  dry  walk. 
Sure  enough,  once  they  had  reached  the  top,  they  found 
that  the  melting  snow  had  already  drained  off  the  narrow 
brick  path.  Even  so,  it  was  slippery  walking,  and  for  her 
part  Blanche  Farrow  felt  sorry  that  they  had  left  the 
muddy  road. 

The  party  soon  separated  into  couples  again,  Miss 
Farrow  and  Dr.  Panton  leading,  while  Bubbles  and  Var- 
ick came  last,  behind  all  the  others.  "We  must  look  just 
like  the  animals  going  into  the  ark,"  said  the  girl  dis- 
agreeably. 

Whatever  the  others  might  be  feeling,  Dr.  Panton  was 
thoroughly  enjoying  this  muddy  walk.  He  found  it  singu- 
larly pleasant  to  be  with  agreeable,  well-bred  people,  who 
were  all  so  fit  that  not  one  of  them,  with  the  exception 
of  James  Tapster,  had  even  asked  him  a  question  bearing 
on  health — or  the  lack  of  it.  It  had  been  pleasant,  too,  to 
meet  Miss  Brabazon  again,  for  they  had  become  friends, 
rather  than  acquaintances,  over  poor  Mrs.  Varick's  death- 
bed. 

Behind  Dr.  Panton  and  Miss  Farrow — for  the  brick 
path  which  formed  the  crest  of  the  embankment  only  held 
two  walkers  comfortably — were  the  least  well-assorted 
couple  of  the  party,  Bill  Donnington  and  James  Tapster. 
They  just  plodded  along  side  by  side,  now  and  again 
exchanging  a  laconic  word  or  two.  Tapster's  half -formed 
hope  had  been  that  he  would  walk  with  Bubbles  this  after- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       i9i 

noon;  but,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  he  had  made  no 
real  effort  to  secure  her  company. 

The  unfortunate  man  was  feeling  very  nervous  and 
uneasy — af  raid  lest  he  had  been  too  precipitate  in  his  woo- 
ing, for  Bubbles  frightened  as  well  as  fascinated  him. 
Even  he  half  realized  that,  as  her  husband,  he  would  be 
tolerated  rather  than  welcomed  in  a  world  of  which  he 
was  anxious  to  form  part,  though  in  his  heart  he  at  once 
despised  and  feared  its  denizens. 

At  times  he  was  even  tempted  to  wish  that  she  had  said 
"No"  at  once — and  that  although  he  knew  that  he  would 
have  been  very  surprised  and  disappointed  had  she  done 
so.  On  the  whole  he  thought  that  after  a  period  of  maid- 
enly hesitation  she  would  say  "Yes" ;  and,  having  inherited 
from  an  acquisitive  father  a  positive,  concrete  kind  of 
mind,  as  he  trudged  along  he  began  ruminating  over  the 
question  of  Bubbles'  marriage  settlements.  On  one  thing 
he  was  determined.  Nothing  should  induce  him  so  to  ar- 
range matters  that  in  the  event  of  his  death  Bubbles  should 
be  able  to  dower  some  worthless  fortune-hunter  with  his, 
Tapster's,  wealth!  He  felt  certain  that  her  father's  so- 
licitors would  try  and  arrange  that  this  might  come  to 
pass — "lawyers  are  such  cunning  devils" — and  he  grew 
purple  with  rage  at  the  thought. 

How  surprised  Donnington  would  have  been  could  he 
have  looked  into  his  dull  companion's  mind ! 

In  addition  to  Dr.  Panton,  two  other  people  were  really 
enjoying  this  uncomfortable  walk,  for  Helen  Brabazon 
and  Sir  Lyon  Dilsford  had  plenty  to  say  to  one  another. 
It  was  very  seldom  that  Sir  Lyon  found  a  young  woman 
interested  in  the  subjects  he  himself  had  most  at  heart. 
He  found  it  a  curiously  pleasant  experience  to  answer  her 


i92       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

eager,  ignorant  questions  on  sociological  and  political  sub- 
jects. It  was  clear  that  Miss  Brabazon  only  regarded  her- 
self as  the  trustee  of  her  vast  wealth,  and  this  touched  her 
companion  very  much.  Also,  what  had  happened  yester- 
day— that  sudden,  intimate  confession  of  what  had  taken 
place  in  the  hall — had  made  their  relations  to  one  another 
much  closer.  But  neither  of  them  had  alluded  to  it  again. 

As  for  Lionel  Varick  and  Bubbles  Dunster,  they  were 
now  lagging  some  way  behind  the  others.  More  than  once 
the  girl  suggested  that  she  should  slip  away  and  go  back 
to  Wyndfell  Hall  alone,  but  her  host  would  not  hear  of  it. 
He  declared  good-humouredly  that  soon  they  would  all  be 
homeward  bound;  so,  apathetically,  Bubbles  walked  on, 
her  feet  and  her  head  aching. 

The  old  Roman  embankment  now  formed  part  of  the 
works  connected  with  a  big  reservoir,  and  at  last  the  walk- 
ers reached  a  kind  of  platform  from  whence  they  could 
see,  stretching  out  to  their  right,  a  wide,  triangular- 
shaped  piece  of  water. 

Blanche  Farrow  was  for  turning  back;  but  Helen 
Brabazon,  Sir  Lyon,  and  Varick  were  all  for  going  on,  the 
more  so  that  Varick  declared  that  at  a  cottage  which 
formed  the  apex  of  the  reservoir  they  would  be  able  to  get 
some  tea.  So  off.  they  started  again,  in  the  same  order  as 
before,  to  find,  however,  that  the  narrow  brick-way,  in- 
stead of  being  drier — as  one  would  have  expected  it  to  be 
above  the  water — was  more  slushy  and  slippery  than  had 
been  the  path  running  along  the  top  of  the  older  part  of 
the  embankment.  Yet  the  steep  bank  leading  down  to 
the  sullen,  half-frozen  surface  of  the  reservoir  had  been 
cleared  ot  the  grass  and  bushes  which  covered  the  slopes 
of  the  rest  of  the  causeway. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   -193 

They  had  all  been  walking  on  again  for  some  minutes 
when  Donnington  turned  round.  "Take  care,  Bubbles! 
It's  very  slippery  just  here." 

"I'm  all  right,"  she  called  back  pettishly.  "Mind  your 
own  business,  Bill.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  keep  looking 
round!" 

Donnington  saw  Varick  put  out  his  right  hand  and 
grasp  the  girl's  arm  firmly ;  but  even  so  it  struck  him  that 
they  were  both  walking  too  near  the  edge  on  the  side  to 
the  water.  Still,  he  didn't  feel  he  could  say  any  more, 
and  so  he  turned  away,  and  again  began  trudging  along 
by  the  silent  Tapster's  side. 

For  a  while  nothing  happened,  and  then  all  at  once 
there  occurred  something  which  Donnington  will  never 
recall — and  that  however  long  he  may  live — without  a 
sensation  of  unreasoning,  retrospective  horror  welling  up 
within  him. 

And  yet  it  was  only  the  sound — the  almost  stufHess 
sound — of  a  splash!  It  was  as  if  a  lump  of  earth,  becom- 
ing detached  from  the  wet  bank,  had  rolled  over  into  the 
deep  water. 

At  the  same  moment,  or  a  fraction  of  a  moment  later, 
Varick  laughed  aloud ;  it  was  a  discordant  laugh,  evidently 
at  something  Bubbles  had  just  said,  for  Donnington  heard 
the  words,  "Really,  Bubbles !"  uttered  in  a  loud,  remon- 
strating, and  yet  jovial  voice. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  some  instinct  caused  the  young 
man  to  wheel  sharply  round,  to  see,  a  long  way  back  from 
the  others,  Varick  standing  solitary  on  the  brick  path. 

His  companion  had  vanished.  It  was  as  if  the  earth 
had  swallowed  her  up. 

"Where's  Bubbles?"  shouted  Donnington. 


194       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

But  Varick,  still  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  path,  did 
not  look  as  if  he  heard  Donnington' s  question.  The  young 
man  set  off  running  towards  him. 

"What's  happened?"  he  cried  fiercely.  "Where's  Bub- 
bles, Varick  ?" 

Varick  was  ashen ;  and  he  looked  dazed — utterly  unlike 
his  usual  collected  self. 

"She  stumbled — and  went  over  the  side  of  the  em- 
bankment. She's  in  the  water,  down  there,"  he  said  at 
last,  in  a  hoarse,  stifled  voice. 

Donnington  turned  quickly,  and  stared  down  into  the 
grey  water.  He  could  see  nothing — nothing !  He  threw 
off  his  coat. 

"Was  it  just  here?" 

He  looked  at  Varick  with  a  feeling  of  anguished  ex- 
asperation; it  was  as  if  the  horror  and  the  shock  had  con- 
gealed the  man's  mental  faculties. 

Suddenly  Varick  roused  himself. 

"Can  you  swim?"  He  gripped  Donnington  strongly 
by  the  arm.  "If  not,  it's — it's  no  good  your  going  in — 
you'd  only  drown  too." 

Donnington  wrenched  himself  free  from  the  other's 
hold,  and,  rushing  down  the  bank,  threw  himself  into  the 
icy  cold  water.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  he  saw,  a  long  way  off,  a  small,  shapeless, 
mass  rising  ...  he  swam  towards  it,  and  then  he  gave  a 
sobbing  gasp  of  relief.  It  was  Bubbles  .  .  .  Bubbles  al- 
ready unconscious ;  but  of  that  he  was  vaguely  glad,  know- 
ing that  it  would  much  simplify  his  task. 

Very  soon,  although  he  was  quite  unaware  of  it,  the 
affrighted,  startled  little  crowd  of  people  gathered  to- 
gether just  above  the  place  where  he  was  painfully,  slowly, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP      *i95 

swimming  about,  looking  for  a  spot  where  he  could  try 
and  effect  a  landing  with  his  now  heavy,  inert  burden. 

Dr.  Panton  threw  himself  down  flat  across  the  path  and 
held  out  a  walking  stick  over  the  slippery  mud  bank,  but 
the  stick  was  hopelessly,  grotesquely  out  of  Donnington' s 
reach. 

All  at  once  Blanche  Farrow  detached  herself  from  the 
others  and  began  running  towards  the  cottage  which 
formed  the  apex  of  the  reservoir.  ''I'm  going  for  a  rope," 
she  called  out.  "I'll  be  back  in  three  or  four  minutes." 
But,  thanks  to  Dr.  Panton's  ingenuity,  the  man  in  the 
water  had  not  to  wait  even  so  short  a  time  as  that. 

"Have  any  of  you  a  good  long  scarf  ?"  asked  the  doctor, 
and  then,  quite  eagerly  for  him,  James  Tapster  produced 
a  wonderful  scarf — the  sort  of  scarf  a  millionaire  would 
wear,  so  came  the  whimsical  thought  to  Sir  Lyon.  It 
was  wide  and  very  long,  made  of  the  finest  knitted  silk. 
When  firmly  tied  to  the  handle  of  the  walking  stick,  the 
floating  end  of  the  scarf  was  within  reach  of  Donnington. 
With  its  help  he  even  managed  to  secure  a  foothold  on  the 
narrow  one-brick  ledge  which  terminated  the  deep  under- 
water wall  of  the  reservoir. 

The  doctor  called  down  to  him  with  some  urgency :  "I 
wish  you  could  manage  to  hoist  her  up,  Donnington. 
Time  is  of  the  utmost  importance  in  these  cases!" 

But  Donnington,  try  as  he  might,  was  too  spent  to  obey ; 
and  it  seemed  an  eternity  to  them  all  before  Blanche  Far- 
row reappeared,  helping  an  old  man  to  drag  a  short  ladder 
along  the  muddy  path. 

And  then,  at  last,  after  many  weary,  fruitless  efforts, 
the  inert,  sodden  mass  which  had  so  lately  been  poor  little 


196       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Bubbles  Dunster  was  pushed  and  hoisted  up  the  slippery 
bank,  and  stretched  out  on  to  the  narrow  brick  way. 

Mr.  Tapster,  who  had  shown  much  more  agitation  and 
feeling  than  any  of  those  present  would  have  credited  him 
with,  had  taken  off  his  big  loose  coat  and  laid  it  on  the 
ground,  and  at  once  Varick  had  followed  his  example. 
But  as  Bubbles  lay  there,  in  the  dreadful  immobility  of 
utter  unconsciousness,  both  Blanche  Farrow  and  Helen 
Brabazon  believed  her  to  be  dead. 

A  tragic,  fearfully  anxious  time  of  suspense  followed. 
Blanche  looked  on,  with  steady,  dry  eyes,  but  Helen,  after 
a  very  little  while,  turned  away  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  sobbing,  while  the  doctor  was  engaged  in  the  pain- 
ful process  of  trying  to  bring  the  apparently  drowned  girl 
to  life.  More  than  once  Blanche  felt  tempted  to  implore 
him  to  leave  off  those  terribly  arduous  efforts  of  his.  It 
seemed  to  her  so — -so  horrible,  almost  degrading,  that  Bub- 
bles' delicate  little  body  should  be  used  like  that. 

Everyone  was  too  concerned  over  Bubbles  to  trouble 
about  her  rescuer.  But  all  at  once  Varick  exclaimed: 
"We  don't  want  you  down  with  rheumatic  fever.  I'll  just 
march  you  back  to  the  house,  my  boy!" 

"Not  as  long  as  she's  here,"  muttered  Donnington,  his 
teeth  chattering.  "I'm  all  right;  it  doesn't  matter  about 


me." 


He  alone  of  the  people  gathered  there  believed  that  Dr. 
Panton's  perseverance  would  be  rewarded,  and  that  Bub- 
bles would  come  back  to  life.  It  did  not  seem  to  him  pos- 
sible that  that  which  he  had  saved,  and  which  he  so  loved 
and  cherished,  could  die.  Though  he  was  beginning  to 
feel  the  reaction  of  all  he  had  gone  through,  his  mind 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP   '197 

was  working  clearly,  and  he  was  praying — praying  con- 
sciously, in  an  agony  of  supplication. 

And  at  last,  with  a  sensation  of  relief  which  brought  the 
tears  starting  to  his  eyes,  Dr.  Panton  saw  that  his  efforts 
were  to  be  successful;  Bubbles,  after  a  little  choking  gasp, 
gave  a  long,  fluttering  sigh.  .  .  . 

It  was  then  that  the  doctor  had  to  thank  Sir  Lyon  and 
Helen  Brabazon.  One  of  them,  or  both  of  them  together, 
had  thought  of  going  back  to  the  house  and  of  getting  an 
invalid  chair  which  Helen  remembered  having  seen  in  a 
corner  of  one  of  the  rooms  when  she  had  been  shown  over 
the  house  by  her  host. 

Even  so,  it  was  a  very  melancholy  little  procession 
which  followed  the  two  men  carrying  the  chair  on  which 
Bubbles  now  lay  in  apathetic  silence. 

But  everything  comes  to  an  end  at  last,  and,  after  hav- 
ing seen  Bubbles  put  to  bed,  Dr.  Panton  turned  his  at- 
tention to  Donnington,  and  he  did  not  leave  his  second 
patient  till  the  young  man  felt,  if  still  shivery  and  queer, 
fairly  comfortable  in  bed.  Then  the  doctor  went  down 
to  find  the  other  three  men  in  the  dining-room,  having 
hot  drinks. 

Of  the  three  Varick  and  Sir  Lyon  showed  on  their 
faces  traces  of  the  emotion  and  anxiety  which  they  had 
been  through;  but  James  Tapster  looked  his  normal, 
phlegmatic  self. 

"I  wonder  what  exactly  happened  ?"  exclaimed  Panton 
at  last.  "I  suppose  the  whole  thing  was  owing  to  these 
high-heeled  shoes  which  women  will  wear." 

Varick  nodded,  and,  as  he  saw  that  Panton  expected 


198        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

him  to  say  something,  he  muttered :  "Yes,  it  must  have 
been  something  of  the  kind  that  made  her  trip." 

"It  was  a  near  thing,"  went  on  the  doctor  thought- 
fully. "She  was  very  far  gone  when  we  got  her  out  at 
last.  I  don't  mind  admitting  now  that,  when  I  began,  I 
had  hardly  any  hope  of  being  able  to  bring  her  round." 

He  waited  a  moment  and  then  added,  as  if  to  himself : 
"In  fact,  there  came  a  time  when  I  would  have  left  off, 
discouraged,  but  for  the  look  on  that  boy's  face." 

"What  boy?"  asked  Tapster,  surprised. 

"Donnington,  of  course !  I  felt  I  must  bring  her  back 
to  life  for  his  sake." 

James  Tapster  opened  his  mouth.  Then  he  shut  it 
again.  He  told  himself  that  it  would,  of  course,  have 
been  very  disappointing  for  Donnington  to  have  plunged 
into  that  icy  water  all  for  nothing,  as  it  were. 

The  four  men  remained  silent  for  awhile,  and  then 
Varick  said  slowly :  "She  can't  have  been  in  the  water 
more  than  a  minute  before  Donnington  was  in  after  her 
— for  of  course  I  gave  the  alarm  at  once." 

Sir  Lyon  looked  at  him  quickly.  "I  thought  Don- 
nington turned  round  and  missed  her?" 

"Donnington  must  have  heard  me  call  out."  Varick 
was  lighting  a  cigarette,  and  Sir  Lyon  saw  that  his  hand 
shook;  "and  yet  when  I  saw  her  roll  down  the  bank  I  was 
so  paralyzed  with  horror  that  my  voice  seemed  to  go." 

He  looked  appealingly  at  his  friend  Panton. 

"Yes,  I  can  well  understand  that,"  said  the  doctor  feel- 
ingly. "I  have  known  shock  close  the  throat  absolutely." 
He  added:  "Did  you  see  her  sink  and  rise  again  twice 
before  Donnington  got  at  her,  Varick?  I  have  always 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP    *  199 

wondered  whether  drowning  people  always  come  up  three 
times — or  if  it's  only  an  old  wives'  tale." 

"Yes,  no,  I  can't  remember " 

Varick  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  as  if  trying  to  shut 
out  some  dreadful  sight.  Then  he  groped  his  way  to  a 
chair,  and  sat  down  heavily. 

"I  say,  Varick,  I  am  sorry." 

Dr.  Panton  looked  really  concerned.  "We've  been 
thinking  so  much  of  Miss  Bubbles  and  of  her  rescuer 
that  we  have  forgotten  you!"  he  exclaimed. 

Their  host  leant  forward;  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  "I  shall  never  forget  it — never,"  he  muttered 
brokenly.  "The  horror  that  seized  me — the  awful  feel- 
ing that  I  could  do  nothing — nothing!  I  felt  so  abso- 
lutely distraught  that  I  seemed  to  see  myself,  not  Bub- 
bles, floating  down  there — on  the  surface  of  the  water." 

He  looked  up,  and  they  were  all,  even  Tapster,  pain- 
fully impressed  by  his  look  of  retrospective  horror.  Dr. 
Panton  told  himself  that  Lionel  Varick  was  an  even 
more  sensitive  man  than  he  had  hitherto  known  him 
to  be. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DINNER  was  to  be  half  an  hour  later  than  usual, 
and  Dr.  Panton,  as  he  went  off  to  his  comfortable, 
warm  room,  felt  pleasantly,  healthily  tired. 

He  had  gone  in  to  see  his  patients  for  a  moment  on 
his  way  upstairs,  and  they  were  both  going  on  well.  Bub- 
bles was  beginning  to  look  her  own  queer,  elfish  little  self 
again.  She  was  curiously  apathetic,  as  people  so  often 
are  after  any  kind  of  shock,  but  it  was  clear  that  there 
were  to  be  no  bad  after-effects  of  the  accident.  As  for 
Donnington,  the  young  man  declared  that  he  felt  quite  all 
right,  and  he  was  even  anxious  to  get  up  for  dinner.  But 
that,  of  course,  could  not  be  allowed. 

"All's  well  that  ends  well/'  muttered  the  doctor,  as 
he  threw  himself  for  a  moment  into  a  chair  drawn  up  in- 
vitingly before  the  fire. 

He  did  go  on  to  tell  himself,  however,  that  he  now  felt 
a  little  concerned  over  Lionel  Varick.  Varick  now  looked 
far  more  really  ill  than  did  either  Bubbles  or  Bill  Don- 
nington. 

The  doctor  recalled  a  certain  terrible  day,  rather  over 
a  year  ago,  when  Varick  had  broken  down  utterly!  It 
was  the  afternoon  that  poor  Milly  was  being  put  into 
her  coffin;  and,  by  sheer  good  luck  he,  Panton,  hap- 
pened to  call  in.  He  had  found  Varick  sitting  alone, 
looking  very  desolate,  in  the  dining-room  of  the  common- 
place little  villa,  while  from  overhead  there  came  the 
sounds  of  heavy  feet  moving  this  way  and  that. 

200 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       201 

All  at  once  there  had  come  a  loud  knock  at  the  front 
door,  and  Varick,  starting  up,  had  uttered  a  fearful  cry. 
Then,  sitting  down  again,  he  had  begun  trembling,  as  if 
he  had  the  ague.  He,  Panton,  had  been  so  concerned  at 
the  poor  fellow's  condition  that  he  had  insisted,  there  and 
then,  on  taking  him  along  to  his  own  house,  and  he  had 
kept  him  there  as  his  guest  till  the  day  of  Mrs.  Varick's 
funeral. 

As  these  memories  came  crowding  on  him,  the  door  of 
his  room  opened  quietly,  and  the  man  who  was  filling  his 
mind  walked  in. 

Varick  was  already  dressed  for  dinner,  and,  not  for 
the  first  time,  the  doctor  told  himself  what  a  distinguished- 
looking  man  his  friend  and  host  was. 

"Panton,"  said  Varick  abruptly,  "I  have  something, on 
my  mind." 

The  doctor  looked  up,  surprised.  "What  is  it,  my 
dear  fellow?"  he  asked  kindly. 

"I  can't  help  thinking  that  in  some  inexplicable  way  I 
pushed  Bubbles  Dunster  over  the  edge  of  that  embank- 
ment. Has  she  said  anything  to  you  about  it?" 

Dr.  Panton  got  up  and  came  over  to  the  speaker.  He 
put  his  hand  heavily  on  Varick's  shoulder,  and  almost 
forced  him  down  into  the  chair  from  which  he  had  him- 
self risen. 

"Look  here,"  he  exclaimed,  "this  won't  do  at  all !  Pull 
yourself  together,  man — you  mustn't  get  such  fancies  into 
your  head.  That  way  madness  lies.  Still,  you  may  as 
well  try  and  get  it  off  your  chest  once  for  all*  Tell  me 
exactly  what  did  happen?  Begin  at  the  beginning " 

As  Varick  remained  silent,  the  doctor  went  on,  en- 
couragingly: "I  will  start  you  by  reminding  you  that 


202       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Miss  Bubbles  was  wearing  the  most  absurd  high-heeled 
shoes.  Young  Donnington  spoke  to  her  about  them,  and 
that  drew  my  attention  to  her  feet  as  we  came  out  of  the 
gate.  She  even  tripped  when  we  were  just  past  the  bridge. 
Do  you  remember  that?" 

"No,  I  didn't  notice  her  at  all." 

"Well,  tell  me  exactly  what  happened  just  before  she 
fell  over  the  edge  of  the  embankment?" 

"I  don't  know  that  there's  very  much  to  tell/'  Varick 
was  now  staring  into  the  fire,  but  at  last  he  began  in  a 
strained,  tired  voice: 

"Donnington  had  just  shouted  out  that  we  were  walk- 
ing rather  too  near  to  the  edge,  and  so  I  took  hold  of 
her  arm.  But  you  know  what  Bubbles  is  like?  She's  a 
queer  kind  of  girl,  and  she  tried  to  wrench  herself  free. 
Then  I  gripped  a  little  harder  and — well,  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  did  happen !  I  suppose  her  foot  turned,  for 
I  suddenly  felt  her  weight  full  on  me,  and  then,  and 
then " 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Panton  soothingly,  "I  know  exactly 
what  happened.  You  instinctively  straightened  yourself 
to  try  to  put  her  on  her  feet  again,  but  she'd  already  lost 
her  balance " 

"I  suppose  that's  what  did  happen,"  said  Varick  in  a 
low  voice. 

" And  her  foot  turning  again,  she  rolled  down  the 

steep  embankment,"  concluded  the  doctor  firmly.  "You 
did  nothing,  my  dear  chap,  absolutely  nothing,  to  bring 
the  accident  about!  Put  that  idea,  once  and  for  all,  out 
of  your  mind." 

"I  would,"  said  Varick  painfully,  "I  would,  but  that 
I'm  afraid — in  fact,  I  feel  sure — that  she  thinks  I  pushed 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       203 

her  in.  She  turned  the  most  awful  look  on  me,  Panton, 
as  she  fell  over  the  edge.  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"That  look  had  nothing  to  do  with  you/'  said  the  doc- 
tor decidedly.  "It  was  simply  the  terrified  look  of  a 
human  being  on  the  brink  of  a  frightful  death." 

"You're  a  good  friend,"  muttered  Varick,  getting  up. 
"I'll  leave  you  to  dress  now." 

"Wait  a  moment!"  exclaimed  Panton;  "there's  one 
thing  about  Miss  Bubbles'  accident  which  does  trouble 
me,  I  admit.  It  puzzled  me  at  the  time ;  and  I  can  see  it  is 
puzzling  young  Donnington  too." 

Varick,  who  was  already  at  the  door,  stayed  his  steps 
and  turned  round. 

There  had  come  back  into  his  face  the  strained  look 
which  had  softened  away  while  he  listened  to  his  friend's 
sensible  remarks.  "Yes,"  he  said  impatiently,  "yes,  Pan- 
ton?  What  is  it  that  puzzles  you?" 

"I  wish  I  knew  exactly  how  long  Miss  Bubbles  was 
in  the  water.  She  was  very,  very  far  gone  when  that  boy 
managed  to  clutch  hold  of  her.  Did  you  see  her  go  down 
again,  and  come  up  again  twice?  Forgive  me,  my  dear 
fellow,  I'm  afraid  I'm  distressing  you." 

"You  asked  me  that  downstairs,"  said  Varick,  "and  I 
told  you  then  that — that  I  didn't  know." 

"I  thought,"  said  Dr.  Panton,  "that  you  remembered 
so  dearly  all  that  had  happened — by  what  you  said  just 
now." 

"Yes,  up  to  the  moment  when  she  fell  in,  I  remember 
everything.  But  once  she  was  in  the  water  everything 
became  blurred.  All  I  can  say  is  that  it  seemed  as  if 
hours  drifted  by  before  I  saw  you  all  come  running  up 
towards  me " 


204       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"Come,  come/'  said  Panton,  a  trifle  impatiently.  "As 
a  matter  of  fact  it  can't  have  been  more  than  three 
minutes.  Still,  it  was  long  enough  for  the  girl  to  go  as 
near  the  Great  Divide,  as  a  friend  of  mine  calls  it,  as  I've 
ever  known  a  human  being  go." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Varick  slowly,  "that  if  you  hadn't 
been  there  Bubbles  would  now  be  dead?" 

"Well,  yes,  I'm  afraid  that's  true,"  said  the  doctor 
simply.  "I  should  have  expected  that  clever,  intelligent 
Miss  Farrow,  to  say  nothing  of  Miss  Brabazon,  to  know 
something  about  First  Aid.  But  neither  of  them  know 
anything !  The  only  person  who  was  of  the  slightest  use 

was  young  Donnington;  and  I  suspect "  he  smiled 

broadly. 

"What  do  you  suspect?"  asked  Varick  rather  quickly. 

"Well,  I  suspect  that  he's  in  love  with  Miss  Bubbles." 

"Of  course  he  is."  Varick' s  contemptuous  tone  jarred 
a  little  on  Panton.  "But  Bubbles  intends  to  become  Mrs. 
Tapster." 

"I  should  be  sorry  to  think  that!" 

"Why  sorry?  The  modern  young  woman — and  Bub- 
bles is  a  very  modern  young  woman — knows  the  value  of 
money,"  said  Varick  dryly. 

He  waited  a  moment.  "I'll  leave  you  now,  Panton, 
and  I'll  see  that  the  dinner-bell  isn't  rung  till  you're  quite 
ready."- 

"All  right.     I  won't  be  ten  minutes " 

But  Varick  lingered  by  the  door.  "Panton,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "you've  been  a  good  friend  to  me!  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  I  shall  never  forget  it.  As  long  as  there's 
breath* in  my  body  I  shall  be  grateful  to  you." 

As  the  doctor  dressed  he  told  himself  again  that  Varick 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       205 

had  never  really  recovered  from  the  strain  of  his  wife's 
long  illness.  Under  that  rather  exceptionally  calm,  stead- 
fast-looking exterior,  the  man  was  extraordinarily  sensi- 
tive. How  upset,  for  instance,  Varick  had  been  about 
Miss  Pigchalke's  crazy  advertisement.  He,  Panton,  had 
felt  quite  sorry  that  he  had  said  anything  about  it. 

While  putting  on  his  tie,  he  told  himself  that  what  the 
dear  fellow  wanted  now  was  a  good,  sensible  second  wife. 
And  then,  as  he  formulated  that  thought  to  himself,  the 
young  man — for  he  was  still  quite  a  young  man — stopped 
what  he  was  doing,  and  rubbed  his  hands  joyfully.  Why, 
of  course!  What  a  fool  he  had  been  never  to  think  of 
it  before — though  to  be  sure  it  would  really  have  been 
almost  indecent  to  have  thought  of  it  before.  Helen 
Brabazon?  The  very  woman  for  Lionel  Varick!  Such 
a  marriage  would  be  the  making  of  his  highly-strung, 
fine-natured  friend. 

As  he  hurriedly  finished  dressing,  Panton  plumed  him- 
self on  his  cleverness.  With  all  his  heart  he  hoped  the 
day  would  come  when  he  would  be  able  to  say  to  Varick : 
"Ages  before  you  thought  of  her,  old  chap,  /  selected 
Miss  Brabazon  as  your  future  bride!"  He  hoped,  un- 
easily, that  Sir  Lyon  was  not  seriously  in  the  running. 
But  he  had  noticed  that  Sir*  Lyon  and  Miss  Brabazon 
seemed  to  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to  one  another. 
Women,  so  he  told  himself  ruefully,  like  to  be  "My  lady." 
But  she  was  certainly  fond  of  Varick — she  had  been  fond 
of  him  (of  course,  only  as  a  woman  may  be  of  a  friend's 
husband)  during  those  sad  weeks  at  Redsands. 
***** 

As  the  doctor  came  out  of  his  room  he  decided  to  go 
in  for  a  moment  and  see  Bubbles  Dunster.  Somehow 


206       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

he  did  not  feel  quite  easy  about  her.  He  wondered,  un- 
comfortably, if  there  could  be  anything  in  Varick's  pain- 
ful suspicion.  After  her  aunt  and  Helen  Brabazon  be- 
tween them  had  put  her  to  bed,  and  he  had  come  in,  alone, 
to  see  how  she  was,  she  had  said  abruptly :  "I  wonder  if 
it's  true  that  doctors  can  keep  a  secret  better  than  most 
men?"  And  when  he  had  made  some  joking  answer, 
she  had  asked,  in  a  very  serious  tone:  "You're  a  great 
friend  of  Lionel  Varick,  eh?"  He  had  answered :  "Men 
don't  vow  eternal  friendships  in  the  way  I'm  told  young 
ladies  do;  but,  yes,  I  hope  I  am  a  great  friend  of  Lionel 
Varick's.  I've  a  high  opinion  of  him,  Miss  Bubbles,  and 
I've  seen  him  under  circumstances  that  test  a  man." 

She  had  looked  at  him  fixedly  while  he  said  these  words, 
and  then  she  had  opened  and  shut  her  eyes  in  a  very  odd 
way.  He  now  asked  himself  if  it  was  probable — pos- 
sible— conceivable — that  she  blamed  Varick  for  her  acci- 
dent? He,  Varick,  evidently  thought  so. 

And  then,  as  he  walked  along  the  darkened  corridor, 
there  came  over  Dr.  Panton  a  most  extraordinary  feel- 
ing— a  feeling  that  he  was  not  alone. 

He  stayed  his  steps,  and  listened  intently.  But  the 
only  sound  he  heard  was  the  ticking  of  a  clock.  He 
walked  on,  and  all  at  once  there  came  a  word  repeated 
twice,  quite  distinctly,  almost  as  if  in  his  ear.  It  was 
a  disagreeable,  an  offensive  word — a  word,  or  rather  an 
appellation,  which  the  clever  young  doctor  had  not  heard 
applied  to  himself  for  a  good  many  years.  For,  twice 
over,  was  the  word  "Fool!"  repeated  in  a  mocking  voice, 
a  voice  to  whose  owner  he  could  not  at  the  moment  put 
a  name,  and  yet  which  seemed  vaguely  familiar. 

Then  he  remembered.    Why,  of  course,  it  was  the  voice 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       207 

of  that  crazy,  unpleasant  old  woman* who  had  called  on 
him  last  spring !  But  how  had  Miss  Pigchalke  found  her 
way  into  Wyndfell  Hall?  And  where  on  earth  was 
she? 

He  looked  round  him,  this  way  and  that;  and  his 
eyes,  by  now  accustomed  to  the  dim  light  thrown  by  a 
hanging  lamp,  saw  everything  quite  distinctly.  He.  was 
certainly  alone  in  the  corridor  now.  But  Miss  Pigchalke 
had  as  certainly  been  there  a  moment  ago*.  He  wondered 
if  she  could  have  hidden  herself  in  a  huge  oak  chest  which 
stood  to  his  right?  Nay,  there  she  could  not  be,  for  he 
remembered  having  been  shown  that  it  was  full  of 
eighteenth-century  gala  gowns. 

And  while  he  was  looking  about  him,  feeling  utterly 
perplexed  and  bewildered,  through  a  door  which  was  ajar 
there  suddenly  passed  out  Lionel  Varick. 

"Is  anyone  in  there  ?"  asked  the  doctor  sharply. 

Varick  started  violently.  "You  did  startle  me!"  he 
exclaimed.  "No,  there's  no  one  in  there — I  came  up  to 
look  for  a  book.  But  as  I  told  them  to  delay  dinner  yet 
a  little  longer,  would  you  mind  if  we  went  in  and  saw 
Bubbles  together  on  our  way  downstairs  ?  I  feel  I  should 
rather  like  to  get  my  first  interview  with  her  over — and 
with  you  there." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't."  But  there  was  a 
doubtful  ring  in  Dr.  Panton's  voice.  He  would,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  have  very  much  preferred  that  Varick 
should  not  see  the  girl  to-night,  especially  if  there  was 
the  slightest  truth  in  the  other's  suspicion  that  Bubbles 
believed  him  to  have  been  in  any  way  instrumental,  how- 
ever accidentally,  in  making  her  fall  into  the  water. 

His  mind  worked  quickly,  as  minds  are  apt  to  work 


208        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

when  faced  with  that  sort  of  problem,  and  he  decided 
that  on  the  whole  he  might  as  well  let  Varick  do  as  he 
wished. 

"You'd  better  not  say  very  much  to  her.  Just  say  you 
hope  she's  feeling  all  right  by  now — or  something  of 
that  sort." 

But  when  they  came  to  the  closed  door  of  the  girl's 
room  he  turned  and  said:  "I'll  just  go  in  and  prepare 
her  for  your  visit — if  you  don't  mind?" 

Bubbles  was  lying  straight  down  in  bed,  for,  at  her 
own  request,  the  bolster  had  been  taken  away.  Her 
head  was  only  just  raised  up  on  the  pillow.  By  the  light 
of  the  one  candle  he  could  see  her  slender  form  outlined 
under  the  bed-clothes.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  features 
pinched  and  worn.  There  was  something  almost  deathly 
in  the  look  of  her  little  face. 

He  wondered  if  she  was  asleep — if  so,  it  would  be 
rather  a  relief  to  him  to  go  outside  the  door  and  tell 
Varick  that  she  mustn't  be  disturbed.  But  all  at  once 
she  opened  her  eyes  widely,  and  there  even  came  the 
quiver  of  a  smile  over  her  face. 

"Doctor?"  she  said  plaintively.  "Doctor,  come  nearer, 
I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"Yes?"  he  said.    "What  is  it,  Miss  Bubbles?" 

"I  want  to  ask  you,"  she  said  dreamily,  "why  you 
brought  me  back?  I  was  beginning  to  feel  so  much  at 
home  in  the  grey  world.  There  were  such  kind  people 
there,  waiting  to  welcome  me.  Only  one  friend  I  felt 
sad  to  leave  behind " 

"Tut-tut!"  he  said,  a  little  startled.  "You  were  nevei; 
anywhere  near  leaving  us,  Miss  Bubbles/' 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       209 

"I  know  I  was,  and  you  know  it,  too.  But  you  called 
me  back.  Confess  that  you  did !" 

"I'll  confess  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  answered  a  little 
shortly. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  he  went  on,  "There's 
someone  outside  the  door  who  wants  to  see  you;  some- 
one who's  feeling  most  awfully  miserable  about  you." 

A  look  of  unease  and  of  anxiety  came  over  her  face. 
"D'you  mean  Mr.  Tapster?"  she  said  hesitatingly. 

"Good  heavens,  no!"  He  was  surprised,  and  a  little 
disgusted.  "Can't  you  guess  who  it  is?" 

He  saw  the  look  in  her  face  grow  to  shrinking  fear. 
"I  can't  guess  at  all,"  she  said  weakly.  "You  won't 
allow  Bill  to  get  up — I  know  that  because  he  sent  me  a 
message.  Bill's  the  only  person  I  want  to  see." 

"He'll  come  soon  enough,"  said  Dr.  Panton,  smiling. 

"It  was  really  Bill  who  saved  me,"  she  went  on,  as  if 
speaking  to  herself. 

"Of  course  it  was  Bill!"  he  spoke  now  with  hearty  as- 
sent. "You've  a  splendid  friend  in  that  young  man,  Miss 
Bubbles,  and  I  hope  you're  properly  grateful  to  him?" 

"I  think  I  am,"  she  said  slowly.    "I'm  trying  to  be." 

"And  the  other  friend  who  wants  to  see  you — may  he 
come  in  for  a  minute?" 

"The  other  friend?    Do  you  mean  Sir  Lyon?" 

"No,  no — of  course  not!"  He  spoke  with  a  touch  of 
impatience  now. 

"Mr.  Tapster,"  said  Bubbles,  nervously  flying  off  at  a 
tangent,  "wants  me  to  marry  him,  Dr.  Panton.  He  asked 
me — was  it  yesterday  morning,  or  this  morning?"  She 
knitted  her  brows.  "Of  course,  I  had  to  help  him  out. 
The  moment  he'd  said  it,  he  began  to  hope  that  I'd  say 


210       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

'No' — so  I  thought  I'd  punish  him,  by  leaving  him  in 
suspense  a  bit." 

"He  was  very  distressed  at  your  accident,"  said  the 
doctor  rather  stiffly.  Bubbles'  queer  confidence  had 
startled  him. 

"Most  men  only  really  want  what  they  feel  is  out  of 
their  reach,"  she  whispered.  "When  he  thought  me  gone, 
he  wanted  me  back  again.  He's  like  that.  He'll  make  a 
much  nicer  widower  than  he  will  a  husband!" 

She  looked  up  and  smiled,  but  he  felt  as  if  she  was 
keeping  him  at  arm's  length. 

"It's  Mr.  Varick  who's  outside  the  door  and  who  wants 
to  come  in  and  see  you,"  he  said  suddenly,  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  voice. 

Bubbles  turned  her  head  away  quickly.  "Not  to-night, 
doctor;  I'm  too  tired."  She  spoke  very  decidedly,  and 
in  a  stronger  voice  than  she  had  yet  used.  "I'd  rather 
wait  till  I  get  up  before  seeing  Mr.  Varick." 

"He  only  wants  to  come  in  for  a  minute — do  see  him." 

Dr.  Panton  spoke  persuasively,  but  he  told  himself 
that  Varick  was  right — Bubbles  had  got  that  extraor- 
dinary, horrible  notion  into  her  head.  "He's  very  much 
upset,"  he  went  on,  "he  thinks  that  unconsciously  he  may 
have  given  you  some  kind  of  push  over  the  edge  of  the 
embankment." 

He  saw  her  face  change.     It  crimsoned  darkly. 

"Has  he  told  you  that?"  she  muttered. 

"Yes,  he  has;  and  he's  awfully  upset  about  it,  Miss 
Bubbles." 

"I  suppose  I  had  better  see  him.  I  shall  have  to  see 
him  some  time." 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       211 

She  said  the  words  between  her  teeth,  and,  making  an 
effort,  she  sat  up  in  bed. 

Dr.  Panton  went  to  the  door,  and  opened  it. 

"Come  in,"  he  called  out;  "but  don't  stay  long,  Varick. 
Miss  Bubbles  is  very  tired  to-night." 

Varick  came  in  slowly  and  advanced  with  curiously 
hesitating,  nervous  steps,  towards  the  bed.  "Well,  Bub- 
bles," he  exclaimed,  "I'm  glad  you're  no  worse  for  your 
ducking!" 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly,  but  said  nothing.  Dr.  Pan- 
ton  began  to  feel  desperately  uncomfortable. 

"I  hope  you'll  be  quite  all  right  to-morrow,"  went  on 
Varick. 

"I  think  I  shall,  thank  you." 

Bubbles  seemed  to  be  looking  beyond  her  visitor — not 
at  him.  She  seemed  to  be  gazing  at  something  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room. 

"You've  brought  someone  in  with  you,"  she  said  sud- 
denly. There  was  a  curious  tone — almost  a  tone  of 
exultation — in  her  voice.  "Who  is  it?"  she  asked  im- 
periously. "Tell  me  who  it  is — Lionel." 

She  very  rarely  called  Varick  "Lionel." 

He  wheeled  round  with  a  startled  look.  "There's  no 
one  here,"  he  answered,  "but  Dr.  Panton  and  myself." 

"Oh  yes,  there  is."  Bubbles  spoke  very  positively. 
"There's  a  woman  here.  I  can  see  her  quite  distinctly  in 
the  firelight.  She's  got  a  fat,  angry  face,  and  untidy 
grey  hair.  Hullo,  she's  gone  now!" 

Bubbles  fell  back  on  to  her  pillow  and  closed  her  eyes. 
It  was  as  if  she  was  dismissing  them. 

Varick  turned  uneasily  to  the  doctor.  "Is  she  de- 
lirious?" he  whispered. 


212        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  He  also  was  startled — 
startled  more  than  surprised.  For  in  just  Bubbles'  words 
would  he  have  described  the  odious  woman  who  had 
come  to  see  him  last  spring,  and  whose  voice  he  had  heard 
within  the  last  few  minutes. 

He  now  had  no  doubt  that  Miss  Pigchalke  had  been 
in  the  corridor,  or,  more  likely,  in  some  room  opening 
out  of  it,  and  that  she  had  followed  Varick  into  this 
darkened  room  and  then,  noiselessly,  slipped  out  again. 

Bubbles  opened  her  eyes. 

"I'll  come  up  after  dinner  for  a  few  minutes,"  said 
Dr.  Panton.  Bubbles  made  no  answer ;  her  eyes  were  now 
following  Varick  out  of  the  door. 

The  doctor  lingered  for  a  moment.  "You're  sure  there 
was  someone  there?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course  I'm  sure."  Bubbles  spoke  quite  positively. 
"I'm  sure" — and  then  he  saw  a  change  come  over  her 
face — '"and  yet  I  don't  know  that  I  am  quite  sure,"  she 
murmured  dreamily. 

As  Dr.  Panton  went  down  the  shallow  oak  staircase 
he  felt  in  a  turmoil  of  doubt  and  discomfort.  To  his 
mind  there  was  no  reasonable  doubt  that  Miss  Pigchalke 
had  somehow  effected  an  entrance  to  Wyndfell  Hall.  She 
had  lived  there  for  long  years;  she  must  know  every 
corner  of  the  strange  old  house. 

When  he  reached  the  hall  where  the  whole  party  was 
gathered  together,  he  went  up  to  Blanche  Farrow.  "May 
I  speak  to  you  a  moment?"  he  whispered. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  anxiously.  "Isn't  Bubbles 
sowell?" 

"Oh,  yes;  Miss  Bubbles  is  going  on  all  right.     But, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       213 

Miss  Farrow?  I  want  to  tell  you  something  that,  if 
possible,  I  should  like  to  keep  from  Varick." 

"Yes—what  is  it?" 

"Someone  who  has  a  grudge  against  him,  a  tiresome 
old  woman  who  was  companion  to  Mrs.  Varick  for  many 
years,  has  somehow  got  into  this  house.  She  spoke  to 
me  just  as  I  came  out  of  my  room.  I  didn't  see  her,  but 
I  heard  her  voice  quite  distinctly.  And  when  Varick  and 
I  went  into  Miss  Bubbles'  room  for  a  moment,  on  our 
way  downstairs,  she  followed  us  in — Miss  Bubbles  de- 
scribed her  exactly.  Then  suddenly  she  disappeared.  I 
am  sure  she's  hiding  in  one  of  the  bedrooms." 

"What  a  horrid  idea!"  exclaimed  Blanche. 

"Now  comes  the  question — can  we  manage  to  hunt 
her  out,  and  get  her  away  from  the  house,  without  Varick 
knowing?" 

"But  why  shouldn't  he  know?"  asked  Blanche  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"Look  at  him,"  said  the  doctor  impressively.  And 
Blanche,  glancing  quickly  across  the  room,  was  struck 
by  Varick's  look  of  illness. 

"There's  no  reason  for  telling  him  anything  about  it," 
she  admitted.  "But  hadn't  we  better  wait  till  after 
dinner  before  doing  anything?" 

"Perhaps  we  had."  " 

Dinner  was  a  curious,  uncomfortable  meal;  even  Sir 
Lyon  and  Helen  Brabazon  felt  the  atmosphere  charged 
with  anxiety  and  depression. 

Miss  Burnaby  alone  was  her  usual  placid,  quietly  greedy 
self.  She  had  expressed  suitable  regret  at  all  that  had 
happened,  but  most  of  the  party  realized  that  she  had 
not  really  cared  at  all. 


214       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

When  the  ladies  passed  through  into  the  white  par- 
lour, Blanche  slipped  away.  She  got  hold  of  her  firm 
ally,  the  butler,  and  explained  in  a  very  few  words  what 
she  thought  had  better  be  done.  Accompanied  by  Pegler, 
they  went  into  every  room,  and  into  every  nook  and 
cranny  of  the  house,  upstairs  and  down — but  they  found 
no  trace  of  any  alien  presence. 

Miss  Pigchalke,  so  much  was  clear,  had  vanished  as 
quietly  and  silently  as  she  had  come. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ONE — two — three — four — five — six — 
Bubbles  heard  the  clock  in  the  dark  corridor 
outside  her  room  ring  out  the  harmonious  chimes,  and 
she  turned  restlessly  round  in  her  warm,  comfortable  bed. 

It  was  very  annoying  to  think  she  would  have  to  wait 
two  hours  for  a  cup  of  tea,  but  there  it  was!  She  had 
herself  told  Pegler  she  didn't  want  to  be  disturbed  till 
eight  o'clock.  She  still  felt  too  "done,"  too  weak,  to  get 
up  and  try  to  find  her  way  to  the  kitchen  to  make  herself 
some  tea. 

She  lay,  with  her  eyes  wide  open,  longing  for  the  day- 
light, and  looking  back  with  shrinking  fear  to  a  night  full 
of  a  misty  horror. 

Again  and  again  she  had  lived  through  that  awful  mo- 
ment when  Varick  had  pushed  her  over  the  edge  of  the 
embankment,  to  roll  quickly,  softly,  inexorably,  into  the 
icy-cold  water. 

She  knew  he  had  pushed  her  over.  To  herself  it  was 
a  fact  which  did  not  admit  of  any  doubt  at  all.  She  had 
seen  the  mingled  hatred  and  relief  which  had  convulsed 
his  face.  It  was  with  that  face  she  would  always  see 
Lionel  Varick  henceforth. 

There  had  been  a  moment  when  she  had  thought  she 
would  tell  Dr.  Panton ;  then  she  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  there  was  no  good  purpose  to  be  served  by  tell- 
ing the  strange  and  dreadful  truth. 

215 


216       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Some  noble  lines  of  Swinburne's  which  had  once  been 
quoted  to  her  by  a  friend  she  loved,  floated  into  her 
mind — 


"But  ye,  keep  ye  on  earth 
Your  lips  from  over-speech, 
Loud  words  and  longing  are  so  little  worth; 
And  the  end  is  hard  to  reach. 
For  silence  after  grievous  thing's  is  good, 
And  reverence,  and  the  fear  that  makes  men  whole 
And  shame,  and  righteous  goverance  of  blood, 
And  Lordship  of  the  Soul. 

And  from  sharp  words  and  wits  men  pluck  no  fruit, 
And  gathering  thorns  they  shake  the  tree  at  root; 
For  words  divide  and  rend, 
But  silence  is  most  noble  till  the  end." 


As  she  lay  there,  feeling  physically  so  ill  and  weak, 
while  yet  her  mind  worked  so  clearly  and  quickly,  she 
set  herself  to  solve  a  painful  puzzle.  Why  had  Varick 
tried  to  do  her  to  death?  She  admitted  to  herself  that 
she  had  never  liked  him,  but  she  had  never  done  him  any 
harm.  And  they  had  been  on  good  terms — outwardly — 
always. 

For  hours,  amid  fitful,  nightmarish  snatches  of  sleep, 
and  long,  lucid  intervals  of  thought,  Bubbles  had  wrestled 
with  the  question. 

And  then,  lying  there  in  the  early  morning*,  Bubbles 
suddenly  knew.  Varick  hated  and  feared  her  because  she 
had  unwittingly  raised  his  wife  from  the  dead.  And,  be- 
lieving that  if  he  killed  her,  he  would  lay  that  sinister, 
vengeful,  unquiet  ghost,  he  had  deliberately  planned  yes- 
terday's expedition  in  order  to  do  that  which  he  had  so 
nearly  succeeded  in  doing. 

Bubbles  gave  an  eerie  little  chuckle  which  startled  her- 
self. "I'd  have  haunted  him !"  she  muttered  aloud.  "He'd 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       217 

have  found  it  more  difficult  to  get  rid  of  me  dead  than 
alive." 

Even  as  she  murmured  the  words,  the  door  opened, 
and  she  heard  a  voice  say,  hesitatingly,  "Then  you're 
awake,  Bubbles?  Somehow  I  felt  you  were  awake,  and 
I  thought  you  might  like  a  cup  of  tea." 

It  was  Bill  Donnington,  with  a  lighted  candle  in  one 
hand,  and  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  other. 

How  glad  she  was  to  see  him !  How  very,  very  glad ! 
Yet  he  only  looked  his  usual  sober,  unromantic  self,  stand- 
ing there  at  the  bottom  of  her  pretty  old  walnut-wood  bed, 
looking  at  her  with  all  his  wistful,  faithful  soul  in  his 
eyes. 

Bill  was  fully  dressed,  and  Bubbles  burst  out  laughing, 
feebly. 

"You  are  an  early  bird!"  she  exclaimed.  "And  a  very 
proper  bird,  too.  I  suppose  you  thought  you  mustn't 
come  into  my  room  in  a  dressing-gown?" 

"I  haven't  slept  all  night,"  he  said  stiffly.  "So  I  got 
up  an  hour  ago.  I  came  and  looked  in  here,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  on  my  way  to  the  bathroom.  But  you  were  asleep. 
And  then,  after  I  was  dressed,  I  went  down  to  the  kitchen, 
and  made  myself  a  cup  of  tea.  I  thought  I'd  make  one 
for  you,  too,  just  on  chance." 

He  came  up  close  to  her,  and  Bubbles,  shaking  back 
her  short  curly  hair,  took  the  cup  from  him.  "This  is 
delicious !  You  are  a  good  sort,  Bill !" 

He  sat  down  on  the  end  of  her  bed  while  she  thirstily, 
greedily,  drank  the  tea  he  had  brought  her.  In  all  her 
gestures  there  was  something  bird-like  and  exquisite. 
Even  when  she  was  greedy  Bubbles  was  dainty  too. 

"I  do  hope  you're  feeling  none  the  worse" — he  began. 


2i8       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

And  she  mimicked  him,  gleefully,  speaking  in  a  low 
whisper.  "None  the  worse,  thank  you!  It's  a  comfort, 
sometimes,  to  be  with  a  person  who  always  says  exactly 
what  you  might  expect  he  would  say !  I'm  always  sure  of 
that  comfort  with  you — old  thing." 

"Are  you?"  He  smiled  his  slow,  doubtful  smile,  and 
Bubbles  said  suddenly :  "You've  gone  and  left  the  door 
open." 

He  stood  up,  irresolute.  "I  suppose  I  ought  to  go 
away,"  he  said  hesitatingly. 

She  exclaimed:  "No,  no,  Bill!  I  won't  have  you  go 
away !  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away !  I  want  you  to  stay 
with  me.  But  you  must  shut  the  door,  for  it's  very  cold." 

"D'you  think  I'd  better  shut  the  door?"  he  asked. 

And  then  Bubbles  seized  his  lean,  strong  hand.  "Oh! 
I  see  what  you  mean!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  actually 
think  your  being  in  here  is  more  proper  if  the  door  is 
open?  But  it  isn't  a  bit — for  everyone  in  the  house  but 
us  two  is  fast  asleep!  Still,  that  won't  go  on  long.  So 
shut  the  door  at  once !  I've  something  very  important  to 
say  to  you — something  which  I  certainly  don't  want  Peg- 
ler  to  hear  me  say  to  you.  Pegler  may  come  down  any 
moment — she's  such  a  good  sort,  under  that  stiff,  cross 
manner.  It's  so  queer  she  should  disapprove  of  me,  and 
approve  of  my  Aunt  Blanche,  isn't  it?" 

He  got  up,  and  going  to  the  door,  shut  it. 

"Lock  it!"  she  called  out.  "Lock  it,  Bill!  I  don't 
want  to  be  disturbed;"  she  repeated  in  an  odd  voice,  "I've 
something  very  important  to  say  to  you." 

But  this  time  he  did  not  obey  her,  and  as  he  came  back 
towards  the  bed  he  said  anxiously,  "D'you  still  feel  very 
bad,  Bubbles?" 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       219 

There  was  a  tone  of  great  tenderness  and  solicitude 
in  his  voice. 

"Of  course  I  do.  So  would  you,  if  you'd  died  and 
come  to  life  again." 

"You  didn't  do  that,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "But 
you  were  very  nearly  drowned,  Bubbles.  However,  we 
must  try  to  forget  it." 

Again  she  mimicked  him :  "  'We  must  try  to  forget  it.' 
I  was  waiting  for  you  to  say  that,  too.  As  if  we  should 
ever  forget  it !  But  we  won't  think  about  it  just  now — 
because  we've  got  to  think  of  something  else  that's  much 
more  to  the  present  purpose." 

"Yes,"  he  said  soothingly.     "Yes,  Bubbles?" 

Poor  Bill  felt  very  uncomfortable.  He  did  not  wish 
prim  Miss  Pegler  to  come  in  and  find  him  sitting  on 
Bubbles'  bed,  when  no  one  was  yet  up  in  the  house. 
These  modern,  unconventional  ways  were  all  very  well, 
and  he  knew  they  often  did  not  really  mean  anything,  but 
still— but  still  .  .  . 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  King's  Serf?"  asked  Bub- 
bles suddenly. 

"The  King's  Serf?"  he  repeated,  bewildered. 

"When  the  rope  which  was  hanging  some  poor  devil 
of  a  highwayman  broke — when  the  axe  was  too  blunt  to 
cut  a  robber  rascal's  head  off — when  a  man  being  con- 
demned to  death  survived  by  some  extraordinary  accident 
— well,  such  a  man  became  thereafter  the  King's  Serf. 
He  belonged  to  the  King,  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  and  no 
one  but  the  King  could  touch  him.  He  lost  his  identity. 
He  was  above  the  law !" 

Bubbles  said  all  this  very,  very  fast — almost  as  if  she 
had  learnt  it  off  by  heart. 


220       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"What  a  curious  thing/'  said  Bill  slowly. 

Bubbles  had  so  many  queer,  out-of-the-way  bits  of 
knowledge.  She  was  always  surprising  him  by  the  things 
she  knew.  It  was  the  more  curious  that  she  never  seemed 
to  open  a  book. 

"Come  a  little  nearer,"  she  ordered.  "You're  so  far 
away,  Bill!" 

She  spoke  with  a  touch  of  imperious  fret  fulness,  and 
he  moved  a  little  further  up  the  bed. 

"Nearer,  nearer!"  she  cried;  and  then  she  suddenly  sat 
up  in  bed,  and  flinging  her  arms  round  him,  she  laid  her 
dark,  curly  head  on  his  faithful  heart.  "I  want  to  tell 
you,"  she  whispered,  "that  from  now  onward  I'm  Bill 
Donnington's  Serf — much  more  than  that  poor  brute  I've 
told  you  of  was  ever  the  King's  Serf.  For,  after  all,  the 
King  hadn't  cut  the  rope,  or  blunted  the  edge  of  the 
hatchet " 

"Bubbles!"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh,  Bubbles,  d'you  really 
mean  that?" 

"Of  course  I  mean  it!  What  I  gave  I  had,  what  I 
gained  I  lost,  what  I  lost  I  gained." 

"What  do  you  mean,  darling?"  he  whispered. 

"I  mean  that  the  moment  that  stupid  doctor  allows  me 
to  get  up — then  you  and  I  will  skip  off  by  ourselves,  and 
we'll  say,  'Hullo,  here's  a  church!  Let's  go  in  and  get 
married.' ' 

She  waited  a  moment,  but  Bill  Donnington  said  noth- 
ing. He  only  held  her  closer  to  him. 

"In  the  night,"  went  on  Bubbles,  "I  was  wondering  if 
we'd  be  married  in  that  strange  old  church  near  here, 
our  church,  the  church  with  the  animals.  And  then  I 
thought  no,  we  wouldn't  do  that,  for  I  am  not  likely  to 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       221 

want  ever  to  come  back  here  again.  So  we'll  be  married  in 
London,  in  a  City  church,  in  the  church  where  John  Gilpin 
and  his  family  went  to  what  I  suppose  they  called  'wor- 
ship.' It's  there  you  will  have  to  say  you  worship  me,  Bill!" 

She  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  into  his  face.  "Oh, 
Bill,"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling  a  little,  "you  do  look 
happy!" 

"I  am  happy,  but  I — I  can't  quite  believe  it,"  he  said 
slowly;  "it's  too  good  to  be  true." 

"I  hope  you'll  go  on  being  happy,"  she  said,  again 
pressing  closer  to  him.  "But  you  know  that  sometimes, 
Bill — well,  I  shall  dine  at  Edmonton  while  you  do  dine  at 
Ware.  It's  no  good  my  trying  to  conceal  that  from  you." 

"I — I  don't  understand,"  he  stammered  out.  What  did 
Bubbles  mean  by  saying  that? 

"You'll  know  soon  enough,"  she  said,  with  that  little 
wise  look  of  hers — the  little  look  he  loved.  "But  when- 
ever I'm  naughty  or  unreasonable,  or,  or  selfish,  Bill — 
I'm  afraid  I  shall  often  be  very  selfish — then  you  must 
just  turn  to  me,  and  say:  'You  know,  Bubbles,  when 
all's  said  and  done,  you're  my  Serf;  but  for  me  you 
wouldn't  be  here/  " 

Bill  Donnington  looked  at  her,  and  then  he  said  sol- 
emnly and  very  deliberately :  "I  don't  feel  that  you  ought 
to  marry  me  out  of  gratitude,  Bubbles." 

She  took  her  hands  off  his  shoulders,  and  clapped  them 
gleefully.  "I  was  waiting  for  that,  too!"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  wonder  you  didn't  say  it  at  once — I  quite  thought  you 
would." 

He  said  seriously:  "But  I  really  mean  it.  I  couldn't 
bear  to  think  that  you  married  me  just  because  I  dragged 
you  out  of  the  water." 


222       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"I'm  really  marrying  you,  if  you  want  to  know/*  she 
exclaimed,  "because  of  Mr.  Tapster!  During  the  last 
few  days — I  wonder  if  you've  noticed  it,  Bill?"  (he  had, 
indeed) — "that  man  has  looked  at  me  as  if  I  was  his  serf 
— that's  a  polite  way  of  putting  it — and  I  don't  like  it. 
But  I've  got  a  friend — you  know  Phyllis  Burley  ?  I  think 
she'd  do  for  him  exactly !  It  would  be  so  nice,  too,  for 
she's  devoted  to  me,  and  we  should  have  the  use  of  one 
of  their  motors  whenever  we  felt  like  it." 

Bill  shook  his  head  decidedly.  "We  never  should  feel 
like  it,"  he  said;  "even  if  Phyllis  did  marry  Mr.  Tapster, 
which  I  greatly  doubt  she'd  even  think  of  doing." 

"I'm  going  to  tell  him  to-day,"  she  went  on,  "that  he's 
got  to  marry  her.  There's  nothing  indelicate  about  my 
saying  that,  because  they've  never  met.  But  it'll  work 
in  his  brain,  you  see  if  it  doesn't,  like  yeast  in  new  bread! 
Then  I'll  bring  them  together,  and  then,  and  then " 

"And  then,"  said  Bill  deliberately,  "you'll  never,  with 
my  goodwill,  see  him  again.  So  find  him  a  wife  whom 
you  don't  like,  Bubbles." 

She  looked  at  him  meditatively.  "Very  well,"  she 
said.  "That  will  be  my  first  sacrifice  for  you,  Bill.  I'll 
save  him  up  for  Violet  Purton.  She's  a  horrid  girl — 
and  won't  she  make  his  money  fly!" 

He  was  smiling  at  her  rather  oddly. 

"Bill!"  she  exclaimed,  startled.  "Bill!  I  do  believe 
you're  going  to  be  master " 

And  then  she  flung  her  arms  again  round  his  neck. 
"Kiss  me,"  she  commanded,  "kiss  me,  Bill.  And  then 
you  must  go  away,  for  it  isn't  proper  that  you  should  be 
here,  at  this  time  of  the  morning,  now  that  we're 
engaged !" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THAT  same  morning,  but  a  good  deal  later,  Blanche 
Farrow  woke  with  a  start  to  find  Pegler  standing 
at  her  bedside  with  just  one  letter  in  her  hand. 

Pegler  was  smiling.  It  was  not  a  real  smile,  but  just 
a  general  softening  of  her  plain,  severe  face. 

Pegler  knew  that  her  lady  had  been  rather  "put  out" 
at  not  having  received  her  usual  Christmas  letter  from 
Mr.  Mark  Gifford.  She  had  spoken  of  it  twice  to  Pegler, 
once  lightly,  on  December  27,  and  then  again,  in  a  rather 
upset  way,  on  the  29th.  After  that  she  had  pretended  to 
forget  all  about  it.  But  Pegler  felt  sure  Miss  Farrow 
did  remember — often.  And  now  here  was  the  letter — a 
much  fatter  letter  than  usual,  too. 

Pegler,  of  course,  said  nothing.  It  was  not  her  place 
to  know  the  hand- writing  of  any  of  the  gentlemen  who 
wrote  to  her  mistress. 

Miss  Farrow  took  the  letter,  and  there  came  a  faint, 
a  very  faint,  flush  over  her  face.  She  said:  "I  hope 
Miss  Bubbles  has  had  a  good  night.  Have  you  been  in 
to  her  yet,  Pegler?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.  She  looks  rather  excited-like.  But  as 
you  know,  ma'am,  that's  a  good  sign  with  her." 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is,  Pegler." 

Pegler  slipped  noiselessly  away,  and  then  Blanche 
opened  the  envelope  containing  Mark  Gifford's  long-de- 
layed Christmas  letter. 

223 


224       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"Home  Office, 
"December 

"My  DEAR  BLANCHE, 

"  'How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man !'  Well 
anyhow,  as  you  know,  it  is  my  custom,  which  has  now  at- 
tained the  dignity  of  a  habit,  always  to  write  you  a  letter 
for  Christmas.  Hitherto  I  have  always  known  where  it 
would  find  you,  but  this  year  is  an  exception,  for  I  really 
have  no  idea  where  you  are. 

"This  year  is  an  exception  in  another  respect  also. 
Hitherto,  my  dear  Blanche,  I  have,  with  a  tact  which  I 
hope  you  have  silently  appreciated,  always  managed  to 
keep  out  of  my  Christmas  letter  any  reference  to  what 
you  know  I  have  never  given  up  hoping  for  even  against 
hope.  But  this  time  I  can't  keep  it  out  because  I  have 
had  a  really  good  idea.  Even  a  Civil  Servant  may  have 
a  good  idea  sometimes,  and  I  assure  you  that  this  came 
to  me  out  oi  office  hours — as  a  matter  of  fact  it  came  to 
me  when  I  was  sitting  in  that  funny  little  old  Westmin- 
ster churchyard  where  we  once  spent  what  was,  to  me,  the 
happiest  of  half -hours. 

"I  know  you  have  thought  me  unsympathetic  and  dis- 
approving about  that  which  holds  for  you  so  great  a 
fascination.  Disapproving,  yes;  I  can't  help  disapprov- 
ing of  gambling,  especially  in  a  woman;  but  unsympa- 
thetic, no — a  thousand  times  no.  Sympathy  is  under- 
standing, and,  believe  me,  I  do  understand,  and  therefore 
I  propose  this  plan. 

"If  you  will  do  me  the  honour  of  marrying  me,  I  pro- 
pose that  once  or  even  twice  every  year  you  should  go 
off  to  Monte  Carlo,  or  wherever  else  you  like,  and  play  to 
your  heart's  content.  I  promise  never  to  reproach  you, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       2251 

above  all  never  to  administer  those  silent  reproaches 
which  I  think  are  always  the  hardest  to  bear.  Yes,  I 
will  always  play  the  game,  I  pledge  myself  to  that  most 
faithfully. 

''Forgive  me  for  referring  to  something  which  makes 
my  plan  easier  to  carry  out.  This  year  two  accidents, 
the  death  of  one  colleague,  and  the  premature  retire- 
ment of  another,  have  pushed  me  up  the  ladder  of  pro- 
motion, and,  in  addition,  there  has  been  a  legacy.  The 
English  of  that  is  that  for  our  joint  menage  we  shouldn't 
want  your  income  at  all;  we  could  quite  well  do  without 
it,  and  you  would  be  perfectly  free  to  use  it  in  whatever 
way  you  like. 

"There !  That  is  my  plan.  Now,  dearest  of  women, 
say  yes  and  make  us  both  happy,  for  you  would  make 
me  so  happy  that  I  couldn't  help  making  you  happy  too. 
I  wish  I  had  any  idea  where  you  will  be  when  you  read 
this  letter,  on  which  hangs  all  my  hopes.  Perhaps  you 
will  read  it  at  Monte,  out  on  the  Corniche  Road.  Don't 
let  the  fact  that  you  have  been  lucky  at  play  make  me  un- 
lucky in — you  know  what ! 

"Yours  ever  (this  is  no  figure  of  speech), 

"MARK  GIFFORD." 

Blanche  Farrow  sighed  and  smiled,  as  she  deliberately 
read  the  long  letter  through  twice.  Somehow  it  warmed 
her  heart ;  and  yet  would  she  ever  be  able  to  give  up  the 
life  which  in  many  ways  suited  her  so  well?  If  she  mar- 
ried Mark — dear,  kind,  generous-hearted  Mark — various 
friendships  which,  even  if  they  did  not  mean  so  much 
to  her  as  they  appeared  to  do,  yet  meant  a  good  deal  in 
her  present  lonely  life,  would  certainly  have  to  be  given 


226       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

i 

up.  To  take  but  one  instance.  It  had  almost  been  an  in- 
stinct with  her  to  keep  Lionel  Varick  and  Mark  Gifford 
apart.  In  the  old  days  she  had  been  disagreeably  aware 
of  how  absolutely  Gifford  had  always  disapproved  of 
Varick,  and  of  Varick's  various  ways  of  trying,  often 
successfully,  to  raise  the  wind.  Of  course,  everything 
was  now  different  with  regard  to  this  particular  friend. 
Varick  had  become — by  what  anyone  not  a  hypocrite 
must  admit  had  been  a  fortunate  circumstance — a  re- 
spectable member  of  society;  but,  even  so,  she  knew,  deep 
in  her  heart,  that  he  and  the  man  whose  letter  she  held 
in  her  hand  would  never  like  one  another. 

And  yet  she  was  tired — so  tired! — of  the  sort  of  life 
she  led,  year  in  and  year  out.  Her  nerves  were  no  longer* 
what  they  had  once  been.  For  instance,  the  strange  series 
of  happenings  that  had  just  taken  place  here,  at  Wynd- 
fell  Hall,  had  thoroughly  upset  her;  and  as  for  the  hor- 
rible thing  that  had  occurred  yesterday,  she  hadn't  been 
able  to  sleep  all  night  for  thinking  of  it.  Nothing  that 
had  ever  happened  in  her  now  long  life  had  had  quite 
the  effect  on  Blanche  Farrow  that  Bubbles'  accident  had 
had.  She  had  realized,  suddenly,  how  fond  she  was  of 
the  girl — how  strong  in  all  of  us  is  the  call  of  the  blood! 
As  she  had  stood  watching  Dr.  Panton's  untiring  efforts 
to  restore  the  circulation  of  the  apparently  drowned  girl 
there  had  gone  up  from  Blanche's  heart  a  wild,  instinctive 
prayer  to  the  God  in  whom  she  did  not  believe,  to  spare 
the  child. 

Perhaps  just  because  she  had  not  broken  down  be- 
fore, she  felt  the  more  now  all  that  had  happened  in 
the  way  of  the  strange,  the  sinister,  and  the  untoward 
during  the  last  fortnight.  And  all  at  once,  after  reading 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       227 

yet  again  right  through  the  quiet,  measured  letter  of  her 
old  friend  and  constant  lover,  Blanche  Farrow  suddenly 
burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

And  then  it  struck  her  as  funny,  as  even  absurd,  that 
she  should  cry  like  this !  She  hadn't  cried  for  years  and 
years — in  fact,  she  could  hardly  remember  the  day  when 
she  had  last  cried. 

She  jumped  out  of  bed  and  put  on  her  dressing-gown, 
for  it  was  very  cold,  and  then  she  went  and  gazed  at  her 
reflection  in  the  one  looking-glass  in  the  room.  It  was  a 
beautiful  old  Jacobean  mirror  fixed  over  the  dressing- 
table. 

Heavens !  What  a  fright  she  looked !  Do  tears  always 
have  that  disfiguring  effect  on  a  woman?  This  must  be 
a  lesson  to  her.  She  dabbed  her  eyes  with  a  wet  handker- 
chief, and  then  she  went  over  to  the  writing-table  and  sat 
down. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Blanche  Farrow  wrote 
Mark  Gifford  a  really  grateful,  sincere  letter.  She  said, 
truly,  how  touched  she  was  by  his  long  devotion  and  by 
all  his  goodness  to  her.  She  admitted,  humbly,  that  she 
wished  she  were  worthy  of  it  all.  But  she  finally  added 
that  she  feared  she  could  never  find  it  in  her  heart  and 
conscience  to  say  that  she  would  do  what  he  wished.  She 
had  become  too  old,  too  set  in  her  ways.  .  .  . 

Yet  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  she  wrote  her  long 
letter  in  answer  to  his,  and  it  took  her  a  long  time,  for  she 
often  waited  a  few  moments  in  between  the  sentences. 

How  strange  was  her  relationship  to  this  man  of  whom 
she  saw  so  little,  and  yet  with  whom  she  felt  on  close, 
intangible  terms  of  intimacy !  His  work  tied  him  to  Lon- 
don, and  of  late  years  she  had  not  been  much  in  London. 


228        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

He  knew  very  little  of  her  movements.  Why,  this  very 
letter  had  been  sent  to  her,  care  of  her  London  club,  the 
club  which  had  its  uses — principally — when  she  wanted 
to  entertain  Mark  Gifford  himself  to  lunch  or  dinner. 

His  letter  had  wandered  to  yet  another  address — an 
address  she  had  left  at  the  club  weeks  ago,  the  only  ad- 
dress they  had.  From  thence  it  had  reached  the  last  house 
where  she  had  been  staying  before  she  had  come  to  Wynd- 
fell  Hall.  The  wonderful  thing  was  that  the  letter  had 
reached  her  at  all.  But  she  was  very  glad  it  had  come, 
if  only  at  long  last. 

After  her  letter  was  finished,  she  suddenly  felt  that 
she  must  put  in  a  word  to  account  for  the  delay  in  her 
answer  to  what  should  have  received  an  immediate  reply. 
And  so  she  added  a  postscript,  which,  unlike  most 
women's  postscripts,  was  of  really  very  little  importance 
—or  so  the  writer  thought. 

This  unimportant  postscript  ran: 

"Your  letter  had  followed  me  round  to  about  half-a- 
dozen  places.  Bubbles  Dunster  and  I  have  been  spending 
Christmas  in  this  wonderful  old  house,  Wyndfell  Hall, 
our  host  being  Lionel  Varick.  He  struck  oil  in  the  shape 
of  an  heiress  two  years  ago.  She  died  last  year;  and  he 
has  become  a  most  respectable  member  of  society.  I 
know  you  didn't  much  like  him,  though  he's  often  spoken 
to  me  very  gratefully  of  the  good  turn  you  did  him 
years  ago." 

Blanche  hesitated,  pen  in  hand.  Of  course,  it  was  not 
necessary  that  she  should  mention  the  name  of  her  host. 
She  might  rewrite  the  last  page  of  her  letter,  and  leave 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       229 

the  postscript  out  It  was  unfortunately  true  that  Mark 
had  taken  a  violent  prejudice  against  the  man  he  had 
befriended  to  such  good  purpose  years  and  years  ago. 
She  had  been  still  young  then — young  and,  as  she  was 
quite  willing  to  admit  now,  very  foolish.  In  fact,  she 
looked  back  to  the  Blanche  Farrow  of  those  days,  as  we 
are  sometimes  apt  to  look  back  at  our  younger  selves, 
with  amazement  and  disapproval,  rather  than  sympathy. 
But  there  was  a  streak  of  valiant  honesty  in  her  na- 
ture. She  let  what  had  been  written  stand,  only  adding 
the  words  : 

"The  party  is  breaking  up  to-morrow;  but  Bubbles, 
who  had  a  disagreeable  accident  yesterday,  will  stay  on 
here  for  a  few  days  with  me.  All  the  same,  I  expect  we 
shall  be  in  London  by  the  ninth;  and  then,  perhaps,  you 

and  I  might  meet." 

***** 

It  was  by  Bubbles'  special  wish — nay,  command,  that 
her  engagement  to  Bill  Donnington  was  publicly  an- 
nounced that  very  morning,  at  breakfast,  by  her  aunt. 
Everyone  was  much  interested,  and  said  the  usual  good- 
natured,  rather  silly,  civil  things ;  hence  Blanche  was  glad 
Bill  Donnington  had  breakfasted  early,  and  so  was  not 
there. 

Helen  Brabazon  was  extremely  excited  and  delighted 
at  the  news.  "I  suppose  it  happened  yesterday  morning!" 
she  exclaimed.  "For,  of  course,  they  haven't  seen  one 
another  alone  since  then.  If  they  were  already  engaged, 
what  awful  agony  poor  Mr.  Donnington  must  have  gone 
through  while  you  were  trying  to  bring  her  to  life  again?" 

She  turned  to  Panton,  and  he  answered  thoughtfully, 


230       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"I  could  see  he  was  most  terribly  upset.  Don't  you  re- 
member how  he  refused  to  go  up  to  the  house  and  change 
his  wet  clothes?" 

Blanche  couldn't  help  glancing  furtively  from  behind 
the  teapot  and  high  silver  urn  at  James  Tapster.  His 
phlegmatic  face  had  become  very  red.  Almost  at  once 
he  had  got  up  and  gone  over  to  the  dresser,  and  there, 
taking  a  long  time  about  it,  he  had  cut  himself  some  slices 
of  ham.  She  noticed,  with  relief,  that  he  came  back  with 
a  huge  plateful,  which  he  proceeded  to  eat  with  apparent 
appetite. 

"And  when  is  the  wedding  to  take  place  ?"  asked  Helen. 

"Almost  at  once,"  replied  Blanche  smiling.  "Bubbles 
never  does  anything  like  anybody  else!  She's  set  her 
heart  on  going  to  town  the  very  moment  Dr.  Panton  al- 
lows her  to  get  up.  Then  they're  to  be  married  without 
any  fuss  at  all  in  one  of  the  old  City  churches." 

"What  a  splendid  idea!"  cried  Helen.  "That's  just 
how  /  should  like  to  be  married." 

"I,  too,"  said  Sir  Lyon,  in  his  pleasant  voice.  "To  me 
there's  always  been  something  barbaric  in  the  ordinary 
grand  wedding." 

But  Blanche  Farrow  shook  her  head.  "Perhaps  be- 
cause I'm  so  much  older  than  all  of  you,"  she  said  good- 
humouredly,  "I  think  there's  a  great  deal  to  be  said  for 
an  old-fashioned  wedding:  white  dress  (white  satin  for 
choice),  orange  blossoms,  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square, 
and  all !  I  even  like  the  crowd  of  people  saying  kind  and 
unkind  things  in  whispers  to  one  another.  I  don't  think 
I  should  feel  myself  married  unless  I  went  through  all 
that -" 

And  then,   at  last,   James   Tapster  said   something. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       231 

"Marriage  is  all  rot!"  he  said,  speaking,  as  was  his  un- 
pleasant custom,  with  his  mouth  full.  "There  are  very 
few  happy  married  couples  about." 

"That  may  be  your  experience,"  said  Varick,  speaking 
for  the  first  time  since  Blanche  had  told  the  great  news. 
"I'm  glad  to  say  it  isn't  mine.  I  think  marriage  far  the 
happiest  state — for  either  a  man  or  a  woman." 

He  spoke  with  a  good  deal  of  feeling,  and  both  Pan- 
ton  and  Helen  Brabazon  felt  very  much  touched.  He  had 
certainly  made  his  marriage  a  success. 

Meanwhile,  Blanche  suspected  that  Dr.  Panton  had 
just  had  a  letter  containing  disturbing  news.  She  saw 
him  read  it  twice  over.  Then  he  put  it  carefully  in  a 
note-book  he  took  out  of  his  pocket.  "I  shall  have  to  go 
to-morrow,  a  day  earlier  than  I  thought,"  he  observed. 
"I've  got  an  appointment  in  town  on  Thursday  morning." 

Then  Mr.  Tapster  announced  that  he  was  going  to- 
day, and  though  Varick  seemed  genuinely  sorry,  every- 
one else  was  secretly  glad. 

There  are  days  in  life  which  pass  by  without  being  dis- 
tinguished by  any  outstanding  happenings,  and  which  yet 
remain  in  the  mind  as  milestones  on  the  road  of  life. 

Such  a  day,  at  any  rate  to  Blanche  Farrow,  was  the 
day  which  saw  the  first  disruption  of  Lionel  Varick's 
Christmas  house  party.  Though  Mr.  Tapster  was  the 
only  guest  actually  to  leave  Wyndfell  Hall,  all  the  ar- 
rangements concerning  the  departures  of  the  morrow  had 
to  be  made.  Miss  Burnaby,  Helen  Brabazon,  and  Sir 
Lyon  Dilsford  were  to  travel  together.  Dr.  Panton  was 
going  by  a  later  train,  as  was  also  Bill  Donnington. 
Blanche  herself,  with  of  course  Bubbles,  was  leaving  on 
the  Saturday. 


232       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

As  the  day  went  on  Blanche  realized  that  Varick  much 
desired  that  Helen  Brabazon  should  also  stay  on  till  Sat- 
urday. But  she,  Blanche,  thought  this  desire  unreason- 
able. Though  she  had  come  to  like  her,  she  found  the 
good,  thoughtful,  conscientious,  and  yet  simple-minded 
Helen  "heavy  in  hand";  she  told  herself  that  if  Helen 
stayed  on,  the  entertaining  of  the  girl  would  fall  on  her, 
especially  if,  as  Dr.  Panton  insisted,  Bubbles  must  not 
get  up  till  Friday  at  dinner-time. 

Looking  back,  Blanche  Farrow  told  herself  that  that 
day  had  been  full  of  curious  premonitions.  Yet  it  had 
opened,  in  a  sense  happily  for  her,  with  the  coming  of 
Mark  Gifford's  quaint,  characteristic  letter.  Then  had 
come  the  shock,  and  it  had  been  a  shock,  of  Bubbles'  en- 
gagement, and  of  the  girl's  insistence  on  its  being  an- 
nounced to  the  rest  of  the  house  party  at  once — at 
breakfast. 

The  only  outstanding  thing  which  happened,  and  it  was 
indeed  a  small  thing  compared  to  the  other  two,  was  the 
departure  of  James  Tapster.  Blanche  felt  sorry  for  him 
— genuinely  sorry.  But  she  philosophically  told  herself 
that  no  amount  of  money,  even  had  Bill  Donnington  never 
existed,  could  have  made  Bubbles  even  tolerably  happy 
tied  to  such  a  man. 

After  Mr.  Tapster  had  gone  they  all  breathed  the  more 
freely.  Yet  Blanche  somehow  did  not  feel  comfortable. 
What  was  wrong,  for  instance,  with  Lionel  Varick?  He 
looked  ill  at  ease,  as  well  as  ill  physically.  Something 
seemed  also  to  be  weighing  on  Dr.  Panton's  mind.  Even 
Sir  Lyon  Dilsford  wag  unlike  his  pleasant  easy  self.  But 
Blanche  thought  she  knew  what  ailed  him, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       233 

Her  only  sheet  anchor  of  comfort  during  that  long,  dull 
afternoon  and  evening  was  the  thought  that  Bubbles'  life 
was  set  on  the  right  lines  at  last  .  .  .  and  that  Mark 
Gifford  had  not  changed. 


CHAPTER   XX 

HONBLE.  BLANCHE  FARROW— Wyndfell  Hall 
— Darnaston — Suffolk — Very    private — Meet   me 
outside  Darnaston  Church  at  twelve  o'clock,  midday,  to- 
morrow, Wednesday — MARK  GIFFORD." 

Blanche  sat  up  in  bed  and  stared  down  at  the  telegraph 
form.  What  on  earth  did  this  mean?  But  for  the  fact 
that  she  knew  it  to  be  out  of  the  question,  she  would  have 
suspected  a  foolish  and  vulgar  practical  joke. 

She  noted  that  the  telegram  had  been  sent  off  at  9.30 
the  night  before  (just  after  Mark  must  have  received  her 
letter).  She  also  saw  that  it  had  been  inscribed  for 
morning  delivery.  That  was  like  Mark  Gifford.  He  was 
nothing  if  not  careful  and  precise  with  regard  to  every- 
thing of  a  business  kind. 

Then  she  began  asking  herself  the  sort  of  rather  futile 
questions  people  do  ask  themselves,  when  puzzled,  and 
made  uneasy  by  what  seems  an  inexplicable  occurrence. 
How  would  Mark  get  to  Darnaston  by  twelve  o'clock  to- 
day? Surely  he  could  only  do  so  by  starting  before  it 
was  light,  and  motoring  the  whole  way  from  London? 

She  gazed  at  the  words  "very  private."  What  did  they 
portend  ?  Quickly  she  examined  her  conscience.  No,  she 
had  done  nothing — nothing  which  could  have  brought  her 
into  contact,  even  slightly,  with  the  law.  Of  course,  she 
was  well  aware  that  Mark  had  never  forgotten,  even  over 

234 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       235 

all  these  years,  the  dreadful  scrape  into  which  she  had 
got  herself  by  going  to  those  gambling  parties  in  the  pleas- 
ant, quiet,  Jermyn  Street  flat  where  she  and  Varick  had 
first  become  acquainted.  But  that  had  been  a  sharp  les- 
son, and  one  by  which  she  had  profited. 

She  next  took  a  rapid  mental  survey  of  her  family,  all 
so  much  more  respectable  and  prosperous  than  herself. 
The  only  person  among  them  capable  of  getting  into  any 
real  scrape  was  poor  little  Bubbles. 

Bubbles  was  now  practically  well  again.  She  had  writ- 
ten out  the  announcement  which  was  to  appear  in  the 
Times  and  the  Morning  Post,  and  had  insisted  on  its 
being  sent  off. 

Donnington  had  been  somewhat  perturbed  by  the 
thought  of  their  engagement  being  thus  at  once  made  pub- 
lic. But  Bubbles  had  observed  cheerfully :  "Once  people 
know  about  it,  I  shan't  be  able  to  get  out  of  it,  even  if  I 
want  to!"  To  that  Bill  had  said,  sorely,  that  if  she 
wanted  to  give  him  the  chuck  she  should  of  course  do  so, 
even  on  the  altar  steps.  Bubbles  had  laughed  at  that  and 
exclaimed:  "I  only  said  it  to  tease  you,  old  thing!  The 
real  truth  is  that  I  want  father  to  understand  that  I 
really  mean  it — that's  all.  He  reads  the  Times  right 
through  every  day,  and  he'll  think  it  true  if  he  sees  it 
there.  As  for  his  tiresome  widow,  she'll  see  it  in  the 
Morning  Post — and  then  she'll  believe  it,  too!" 

Blanche  Farrow  told  herself  that  this  mysterious  and 
extraordinary  message  might  have  something  to  do  with 
Bubbles;  and  as  she  got  up,  she  went  on  thinking  with 
increasing  unease  of  the  unexpected  assignation  which 
lay  before  her. 

It  was  a  comfort  to  feel  that  that  disagreeable  man, 


236       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

James  Tapster,  was  gone,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  party, 
with  the  exception  of  herself  and  Bubbles,  were  going 
to-day. 

Something  had  again  been  said  about  Miss  Burnaby 
and  her  niece  staying  on,  and  she  had  heard  Varick  press- 
ing them  earnestly  to  do  so;  but  the  old  lady  had  been 
unwilling  to  break  her  plan,  the  more  so  that  she  had  an 
appointment  with  her  dentist.  Then  Varick  had  asked 
why  Miss  Brabazon  shouldn't  stay  on  till  Saturday? 
There  had  been  a  considerable  discussion  about  it;  but 
Blanche  secretly  hoped  they  would  all  go  away.  She  felt 
tired  and  unlike  herself.  The  events  of  the  last  few  days 
had  shaken  her  badly. 

What  an  extraordinary  difference  a  few  moments  can 
make  in  one's  outlook  on  life!  Blanche  Farrow  was  un- 
comfortably aware  that  she  would  never  forget  what  had 
happened  to  her  on  New  Year's  Eve.  That  strange  and 
fearful  experience  had  obliterated  some  of  her  clearest 
mental  landmarks.  She  wished  to  think,  she  tried  very 
hard  to  think,  that  in  some  mysterious  way  the  vision  she 
had  seen  with  such  terrible  distinctness  had  been  a  projec- 
tion from  Bubbles'  brain — Bubbles'  uncanny  gift  working, 
perchance,  on  Lionel  Varick's  mind  and  memory.  She 
could  not  doubt  that  the  two  wraiths  she  had  seen  so 
clearly  purported  to  be  a  survival  of  the  human  personali- 
ties of  the  two  women  who  each  had  borne  Varick's 
name,  and  had  been,  for  a  while,  so  closely  linked  with 
him.  .  .  . 

Yet  long  ago,  when  quite  a  young  woman,  she  had 
come  to  the  deliberate  conclusion  that  there  was  no  such 
survival  of  human  personality. 

Taking  up  Mark  Gifford's  mysterious  telegram,  and 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       237 

one  or  two  unimportant  letters  she  had  just  received, 
she  went  downstairs,  to  see,  as  she  came  into  the  dining- 
room,  that  only  Varick  was  already  down. 

He  looked  up,  and  she  was  shocked  to  see  how  ill  and 
strained  he  looked.  He  had  taken  poor  little  Bubbles' 
accident  terribly  to  heart;  Blanche  knew  he  had  a  feeling 
— which  was  rather  absurd,  after  all, — that  he  in  some 
way  could  have  prevented  it. 

But  as  he  saw  her  come  in  his  face  lightened,  and  she 
felt  touched.  Poor  Lionel !  He  was  certainly  very,  very- 
fond  of  her. 

"I  do  hope  Helen  Brabazon  will  stay  on  with  you  and 
Bubbles/'  he  said  eagerly.  "I  think  I've  nearly  per- 
suaded Miss  Burnaby  to  let  her  do  so.  Do  say  a  word  to 
her,  Blanche?" 

"I  will,  if  you  like.  But  in  that  case,  hadn't  we  better 
ask  Sir  Lyon  to  stay  on,  too?" 

"Dilsford!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  on  earth  should  we 
think  of  doing  that?" 

Blanche  smiled.  "Where  are  your  eyes?"  she  asked. 
"Sir  Lyon's  head  over  heels  in  love  with  Helen  Brabazon; 
and  I've  been  wondering  these  last  few  days  whether  that 
quiet,  demure  girl  is  quite  as  unconscious  of  his  state  as 
she  pretends  to  be !" 

And  then,  as  she  began  pouring  out  a  cup  of  tea  for 
the  man  who  was  now  looking  at  her  with  a  dismayed, 
surprised  expression  on  his  face,  she  went  on  composedly : 
"It  would  be  rather  amusing  if  two  engagements  were  to 
come  out  of  your  house-party,  Lionel — wouldn't  it?" 

But  he  answered  at  once,  in  a  harsh,  decided  tone,  "I 
think  you're  quite  mistaken,  Blanche.  Why,  they've 
hardly  exchanged  two  words  together." 


23  8       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Blanche  put  down  the  tea-pot.  She  began  to  laugh — 
she  really  couldn't  help  it.  "You  must  have  been  deaf  as 
well  as  blind!"  she  exclaimed.  "They've  been  together 
perpetually !  I  admit  that  that's  been  his  doing — not  hers. 
For  days  past  I've  seen  right  into  his  mind — seen,  I  mean, 
the  struggle  that  has  been  taking  place  between  his  pride 
and — yes,  the  extraordinary  attraction  that  girl  seems  to 
have  for  him.  He's  no  fortune-hunter,  you  know;  also, 
he  wants  so  little,  the  lucky  man,  that  I  think  her  money 
would  be  a  positive  bother  to  him." 

Lionel  Varick  stared  at  Blanche  Farrow.  She  had  a 
way  of  being  right  about  worldly  matters — the  triumph 
of  experience  over  hope,  as  she  had  once  observed  cyn- 
ically. But  this  time  he  felt  sure  she  was  wrong. 

The  feminine  interest  in  a  possible,  probable,  or  even 
improbable  love-affair  always  surprises  the  average  man 
' — surprises,  and  sometimes  annoys  him  very  much. 

"Do  you  go  so  far  as  to  say  she  returns  this — this  feel- 
ing you  attribute  to  him?"  he  asked  abruptly.  He  was 
relieved  to  see  Blanche  shake  her  head. 

"No;  I  can't  say  that  I've  detected  any  response  on  her 
part,"  she  said  lightly.  "But  she's  very  old-fashioned 
and  reserved.  She  certainly  enjoys  Sir  Lyon's  rather  dull 
conversation,  and  she  likes  cross-examining  him  about  the 
life  of  the  poor.  She's  a  very  good  girl,"  went  on  Blanche 
musingly.  "She's  a  tremendous  sense  of  duty.  One  can 
never  tell — but  no,  I  don't  think  the  idea  that  Sir  Lyon's 
in  love  with  her  has  yet  crossed  her  mind !  And  I  should 
say  that  she  really  prefers  you  to  him.  She  has  a  tre- 
mendous opinion  of  you,  Lionel.  I  wonder  why?" 

He  laughed  aloud,  for  the  first  time  since  Bubbles'  ao 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       239 

cident.  He  knew  that  what  Blanche  said  was  true,  and 
it  was  a  very  pleasant,  reassuring  bit  of  knowledge. 

"Old  Burnaby  would  not  think  of  allowing  her  to 
marry  a  penniless  baronet/'  he  said  smiling. 

Blanche  looked  across  at  him  quickly.  "Good  and 
obedient  as  she  is  to  both  those  old  things,  I  don't  think 
they'd  be  able  to  influence  Helen  Brabazon  in  such  a  thing 
as  marriage." 

"Well,  you  may  be  right,"  said  Varick,  doubtfully. 

He  felt  strongly  tempted  to  take  Blanche  into  his  con- 
fidence; to  tell  her,  frankly,  that  he  wished  to  marry 
Helen.  Yet  some  obscure  instinct  held  him  back. 
Women,  even  the  most  sensible  women,  are  so  damned 
sentimental!  So  he  told  himself.  Lately  he  had  had  the 
unpleasant,  disconcerting  feeling  that  whenever  Helen 
looked  at  him  she  thought  of  "poor  Milly." 

"Still,  I  don't  envy  Sir  Lyon  his  wooing,"  went  on 
Blanche.  "Helen  is  a  girl  who'll  take  a  long  time  to  make 
up  her  mind,  and  who  will  weigh  all  the  pros  and  cons." 

"Then  you  don't  think,"  said  Varick  in  a  low  tone, 
"that  she  would  ever  be  swept  off  her  feet?" 

At  one  time  he  had  felt  sure  she  would  be. 

"By  a  grand  passion?  My  dear  Lionel,  what  an  ab- 
surd idea !  But  hush " 

The  door  opened,  and  the  object  of  their  discussion 
came  in.  Helen  Brabazon  always  looked  especially  well 
as  breakfast.  Il  was  her  hour. 

How's  Bubbles  this  morning?"  she  asked. 

And  Blanche  felt  rather  guilty.  She  hadn't  been  into 
Bubbles'  room;  her  mind  had  been  too  full  of  other 
things.  "She's  going  on  very  well,"  she  answered  com- 
posedly. "I  think  she  might  get  up  to-morrow,  in  spite 


240       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

of  Dr.  Panton."  And  then,  for  she  felt  Varick  was 
"willing"  her  to  say  it:  "I  do  hope  that  you  are  going 
to  stay  on  till  Saturday,  even  if  your  aunt  has  to  go 
away  this  afternoon." 

"Yes,"  said  Helen,  and  the  colour  deepened  a  little  in 
her  cheeks.  "Yes,  I've  persuaded  Auntie  to  let  me  stay 
on  till  you  and  Bubbles  come  up  to  London.  It's  only 
two  days,  after  all." 

"I  am  glad."  There  was  a  genuine  thrill  of  satisfaction 
in  Varick's  voice.  This  meant  that  he  and  the  girl  would 
be  practically  alone  together  all  to-morrow  and  Friday. 

"I  think  Sir  Lyon  could  manage  to  stay  on  too,  if  you 
ask  him."  Helen  smiled  guilelessly  at  her  host.  "I  saw 
him  just  now.  He  and  Dr.  Panton  were  taking  Span 
round  to  the  kitchen,  and  when  I  said  I  was  staying  on, 
Sir  Lyon  said  he  thought  he  could  stay  on  too,  just  till 
Saturday  morning." 

Blanche  could  not  forbear  giving  a  covert  glance  of 
triumph  at  Varick's  surprised  and  annoyed  face.  "Of 
course,"  she  said  quickly,  "we  shall  be  delighted  to  have 
Sir  Lyon  a  little  longer.  I  thought  by  what  he  said  that 
he  was  absolutely  obliged  to  go  away  to-day,  by  the  same 
train  as  you  and  Miss  Burnaby." 

"He  certainly  said  so,"  observed  Varick  coldly. 

And  then,  for  Blanche  Farrow  was  above  all  things  a 
woman  of  the  world,  when  the  other  two  men  came  in 
she  made  everything  quite  easy  for  Sir  Lyon,  pressing 
him  to  stay  on,  as  if  she  had  only  just  thought  of  it.  But 
she  noticed,  with  covert  amusement,  that  he  was  very 
unlike  his  usual  cool,  collected  self.  He  actually  looked 
sheepish — yes,  that  was  the  only  word  for  it!  Also,  he 
made  rather  a  favour  of  staying.  "I  shall  have  to  tele- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       241 

graph,"  he  said;  "for  I'd  made  all  my  arrangements  to 
go  back  this  afternoon." 

"As  for  me,"  said  Dr.  Panton,  "I  must  leave  this  after- 
noon, worse  luck !  But  there  it  is."  He  turned  to  Varick. 
"I've  got  an  appointment  in  London  to-morrow  morning 
— one  I  can't  put  off." 

Donnington  came  in  at  last.  He  looked  radiant — in- 
deed, his  look  of  happiness  was  in  curious  contrast  to  the 
lowering  expression  which  now  clouded  Varick's  face. 

"Bubbles  is  nearly  well  again !"  he  cried  joyfully.  "She 
says  she'll  get  up  to-morrow,  doctor  or  no  doctor !"  He 
looked  at  Panton;  then,  turning  to  Blanche,  in  a  lower 
tone :  "Also,  she's  shown  me  the  most  wonderful  letter 
from  her  father,  written  to  her  before  Christmas.  I 
always  thought  he  disliked  me :  but  he  liked  me  from  the 
very  first  time  we  met — isn't  that  strange?" 

"Very  strange,"  said  Blanche,  smiling. 

They  all  scattered  after  breakfast,  but  Miss  Farrow 
noticed  that  Varick  made  a  determined  and  successful  at- 
tempt to  carry  off  Helen  Brabazon  from  Sir  Lyon,  who 
had  obviously  been  lying  in  wait  for  her. 

"What  dogs  in  the  manger  men  are !"  she  said  to  her- 
self. And  then  she  remembered,  with  a  little  gasp  of 
dismay,  her  mysterious  appointment  with  Mark  Gifford. 
She  knew  him  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  he  would  be  in 
good  time ;  but,  even  so,  there  was  more  than  an  hour  to 
be  got  through  somehow  before  she  could  start  for 
Darnaston. 

She  went  up  to  Bubbles'  room.  Yes,  the  girl  looked 
marvellously  better — younger  too,  quite  different! 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door  while  she  was  there, 
and  Donnington  came  in. 


242       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"If  you'd  been  wise/'  said  Bubbles,  looking  up  at  him, 
"you'd  have  made  up  to  Helen  Brabazon,  Bill.  She's  like 
an  apple,  just  ready  to  fall  off  the  tree." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Blanche. 

"Just  what  I  say.  She's  tremendously  in  love  with 
love!" 

"D'you  really  think  so?" 

(If  so,  Sir  Lyon's  task  would  be  an  easy  one.) 

"I  know  it,"  said  Bubbles  positively.  "I've  made  a 
close  study  of  that  girl.  I  confess  I  didn't  like  her  at 
first,  and  I  will  tell  you  why,  though  I  know  it  will  shock 
Bill." 

"I've  always  liked  Miss  Brabazon,"  he  said  stoutly, 
"why  didn't  you  like  her,  Bubbles  ?" 

"Because  when  she  arrived  here  I  saw  that  she  was  in  •" 
love  with  Lionel  Varick." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  her  aunt  reprovingly. 
"You  know  I  don't  like  that  sort  of  joking." 

And  as  for  Bill,  he  turned  and  walked  towards  the 
door.  "I've  got  some  letters  to  write,"  he  said  crossly. 

"Don't  go  away,  Bill.  It  isn't  a  joke,  Blanche — and 
I'm  going  really  to  shock  you  now — unless,  of  course, 
you're  only  pretending  to  be  shocked?" 

"What  d'you  mean?"  said  Blanche. 

"I  think  Hden  fell  in  love  with  Lionel  Varick  before 
his  wife  died." 

Bill  said  sharply:  "I  won't  have  you  say  such  dis- 
gusting things,  Bubbles!"  And  he  did  indeed  look  dis- 
gusted. 

"What  a  queer  mind  you've  got,"  said  Bubbles  reprov- 
ingly. "I  mean,  of  course,  in  quite  a  proper  way;  that  is, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       243 

without  the  poor  girl  knowing  anything  about  it.  But  I 
thing  he  knew  it  right  enough." 

Blanche  remained  silent.  Bubbles'  words  were  making 
her  feel  curiously  uneasy.  They  threw  a  light  on  certain 
things  which  had  puzzled  her. 

"Lionel  Varick  marked  her  down  long  ago/'  went  on 
Bubbles  slowly.  "On  the  evening  that  she  arrived  I  saw 
that  he  had  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  her.  But 
as  the  days  went  on  I  began  to  hope  that  he  wouldn't  suc- 
ceed." She  uttered  these  last  words  very,  very  seriously. 

Her  aunt  looked  at  her,  surprised  at  the  feeling  she 
threw  into  her  voice.  As  for  Donnington,  he  was  staring 
at  her  dumbly  and,  yes,  angrily.  At  last  he  said :  "And 
why  shouldn't  Varick  marry  her,  if  they  both  like  one 
another?" 

"You  wouldn't  understand  if  I  were  to  tell  you. 
You're  too  stupid  and  too  good  to  understand." 

Donnington  felt  very  much  put  out.  He  did  not  mind 
being  called  stupid,  but  what  on  earth  did  Bubbles  mean 
by  saying  he  was  too  good  ? 

"I'm  sure  Lionel's  dead  wife  has  been  haunting 
Helen,"  went  on  Bubbles  rapidly,  "quite,  quite  sure  of  it. 
And  I'm  glad  she  has!  I  should  be  sorry  for  any  nice 
girl — for  any  woman,  even  a  horrid  woman — to  marry 
Lionel  Varick.  There !  I've  said  my  say,  and  now  I  shall 
for  ever  hold  my  peace." 

They  both  stared  at  her,  astonished  by  the  passion  and 
energy  with  which  she  uttered  the  curious  words. 

Bill  looked  down  at  the  girl,  and,  though  he  felt  hurt 
and  angry  with  her,  his  heart  suddenly  softened.  Bub- 
bles looked  very  frail  and  tired  lying  there. 


244       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"Bill,"  she  said,  "come  here,"  and  he  came,  though  not 
very  willingly,  closer  to  her. 

She  pulled  him  down.  "I  only  want  to  tell  you  that  I 
love  you,"  she  whispered,  and  his  anger,  his  irritation, 
vanished  like  snow  in  the  sun. 

Blanche  was  already  at  the  door.  She  turned  round. 
"Well,  I  must  be  off  now  to  see  the  chef,  and  to  make  all 
sorts  of  arrangements.  Sir  Lyon  is  staying  on — rather 
unlike  him  to  change  his  mind,  but  he's  done  so — at  the 
last  moment." 

"I  wish  /  could  get  a  few  more  days'  holiday,"  said 
Bill  ruefully.  "My  number's  up  this  afternoon." 

The  letters  he  had  to  write  could  go  to  blazes — of 
course  he  meant  to  spend  each  of  the  precious  minutes 
that  remained  in  the  next  few  hours  with  Bubbles ! 

"You'll  be  able  to  escort  old  Miss  Burnaby  to  town,  for 
Helen's  staying  on,"  went  on  Blanche. 

"Helen  staying  on?"  exclaimed  Bubbles.  "I'm  glad  of 
that!  Oh,  and  Sir  Lyon's  staying  on,  too?" 

She  suddenly  gave  one  of  her  funny,  eerie  little 
chuckles ;  but  she  made  no  other  comment. 

"Yes,"  called  out  Blanche.  "And  Dr.  Panton's  going 
— so  I've  a  good  many  little  things  to  see  to." 

Bill  sprang  to  the  door,  and  opened  it  for  her. 

As  it  shut  she  heard  Bubbles'  voice,  and  it  was  a  voice 
Blanche  Farrow  hardly  knew.  "Are  you  really  sorry 
you're  going  away  from  your  little  kid,  Bill  ?" 

Blanche  sighed  sharply.  After  all,  so  she  told  herself, 
there  is  something  to  be  said  for  love's  young  dream. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IP  marked  ten  minutes  to  twelve  on  the  tower  of  the 
ancient  chantry  church  of  Darnaston  as  Blanche 
Farrow  walked  across  the  village  green  arid  past  the 
group  of  thatched  cottages  composing  the  pretty  hamlet 
which  looks  so  small  compared  with  its  noble  house  of 
God.  But,  though  she  was  early,  the  man  she  was  to 
meet  was  evidently  already  there,  for  a  big,  mud-stained 
motor-car  was  drawn  up  in  the  lane  which  runs  to  the 
left  of  the  church. 

Feeling  more  and  more  apprehensive,  she  knew  not  of 
what,  she  walked  up  the  path  between  the  graves,  and 
then  suddenly  she  saw  Mark  Gifford — his  spare,  still 
active-looking  figure  framed  in  the  stone  porch,  his  plain, 
but  pleasant,  intelligent-looking  face  full  of  a  grave  wel- 
come. 

He  stepped  out  of  the  porch  and  gripped  her  hand  in 
silence. 

She  felt  that  he  was  deeply  stirred,  stirred  as  she  had 
never  known  him  to  be — excepting,  perhaps,  on  that  oc- 
casion, years  and  years  ago,  when  he  had  first  asked  her 
to  be  his  wife. 

Still  holding  her  hand  in  that  strong  grasp,  he  drew 
her  within  the  porch.  "I'm  so  grateful  to  you  for  having 
come,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you  didn't  think  what  I  did  very 
odd?" 

"I  did  think  it  just  a  little  odd." 

245 


246       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

She  was  trying  to  smile — to  be  her  usual  composed  self. 

"I  couldn't  come  to  Wyndfell  Hall,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"for  a  reason  which  you  will  soon  know.  But  I  had  to 
see  you,  and,  by  a  bit  of  luck,  I  suddenly  remembered 
this  splendid  old  church.  I  passed  by  here  once  on  a 
walking  tour,  years  and  years  ago.  It's  the  sort  of  place 
people  come  a  long  way  to  see;  so,  if  we  are  found  here 
together — well,  we  might  have  met  by  accident." 

"As  it  is,  we  have  met  by  appointment,"  she  said 
quietly. 

She  was  feeling  more  and  more  frightened.  Mark 
now  looked  so  set,  so  grim. 

"Would  you  rather  stay  out  here,"  he  asked,  "or  shall 
we  go  into  the  church  ?" 

"I'd  rather  stay  out  here.  What  is  it,  Mark?  Don't 
keep  me  in  suspense." 

They  were  standing,  facing  one  another ;  he  had  let  go 
her  hand  at  last. 

"What  I've  come  to  tell  you  will  give  you,  I  fear,  a 
great  shock,"  he  began  slowly,  "for  it  concerns  someone 
to  whom  I  believe  you  to  be  deeply  attached." 

He  looked  away  from  her  for  the  first  time. 

"Then  it  is  Bubbles !"  she  cried,  dismayed.  "What  on 
earth  has  the  child  done?" 

He  turned  and  again  looked  into  her  face,  now  full 
of  a  deeply  troubled,  questioning  anxiety.  "Bubbles  Dun- 
ster?"  he  exclaimed.  "Good  heavens,  no!  It's  nothing 
to  do  with  Bubbles." 

A  look  of  uncontrollable  relief  came  over  her  eyes  and 
mouth. 

"Who  is  it,  Mark?  You  credit  me  with  a  warmer 
heart  than  I  possess " 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       247 

But  he  remained  silent,  and  she  said  quickly :  "Come ! 
Who  is  it,  Mark?" 

"Can't  you  guess?"  he  asked  harshly.  And,  as  she 
shook  her  head,  he  added,  in  a  slow,  reluctant  tone :  "I've 
always  supposed  you  to  be  really  attached  to  Lionel 
Varick." 

Lionel  ?    That  was  the  last  name  she  expected  to  hear ! 

"I  don't  know  exactly  what  you  mean  by  'attached,' 
Mark,"  she  said  coldly.  "But  yes,  I've  always  been  fond 
of  him — in  a  way  I  suppose  you  might  call  it  'attached' — 
since  that  horrid  affair,  years  ago,  when  you  were  so  kind 
both  to  him  and  to  me." 

"Don't  couple  yourself  with  him,"  he  said  sternly,  "if, 
as  I  gather,  you  don't  really  care  for  him,  Blanche."  And 
then,  almost  inaudibly,  he  added :  "You  don't  know  the 
tortures  of  jealousy  I've  suffered  at  the  thought  of  you 
and  that  man/' 

"Tortures  of  jealousy?"  she  repeated,  astonished,  and 
rather  touched.  "Oh,  Mark — poor  Mark!  Why  didn't 
you  ask  me  ?  I've  never,  never  cared  for  him  in — in  that 
sort  of  way.  How  could  you  think  I  did?" 

"Yet  you're  here,  in  his  house,"  he  said,  "acting  (so 
you  said  in  your  letter)  as  hostess  to  his  guests?  And 
surely  you've  always  been  on  terms  of  what  most  people 
would  call  close  friendship  with  him  ?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  have" — she  hesitated — "in  a  way. 
I've  always  felt  that,  like  me,  he  hadn't  many  real  friends. 
And,  of  course,  in  old  days,  ages  ago,  he  was  very  fond 
of  me,"  she  smiled.  "That  always  pleases  a  woman, 
Mark." 

"Does  it?"  he  asked,  probingly;  and  as  only  answer 
she  reddened  slightly. 


248       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

There  came  a  little  pause,  and  then  Blanche  exclaimed : 

"I'm  sorry,  very  sorryr  if  he's  got  into  a  new  scrape, 
Mark;  and  I'm  surprised  too.  Some  two  years  ago  he 
married  a  rich  woman;  she  died  not  long  after  their  mar- 
riage, but  she  was  devoted  to  him,  and  he's  quite  well 
off  now." 

"Did  you  know  her?"  asked  Mark  Gifford,  in  a  sin- 
gular tone. 

"No,  I  never  came  across  her.  I  was  away — in  Por- 
tugal, I  think.  He  wrote  and  told  me  about  his  marriage, 
and  then,  later,  when  his  wife  fell  ill,  he  wrote  again.  He 
was  extremely  good  to  her,  Mark." 

"D'you  know  much  about  Varick's  early  life?"  he 
asked. 

"I  think  I  know  all  there  is  to  know,"  she  answered. 

What  was  Mark  getting  at  ?  What  had  Lionel  Varick 
done  ?  Her  mind  was  already  busily  intent  on  the  thought 
of  how  disagreeable  it  would  be  to  have  to  warn  him  of 
impending  unpleasantness. 

It  was  good  of  Mark  to  have  taken  all  this  trouble! 
Of  course,  he  had  taken  it  for  her  sake,  and  she  felt  very 
grateful — and  still  a  little  frightened;  he  looked  so  un- 
usually grave. 

"What  do  you  know  of  Varick's  early  life?"  he  per- 
sisted. 

"I  don't  think  there's  very  much  to  know,"  she  an- 
swered uneasily.  "His  father  had  a  place  in  Yorkshire, 
and  got  involved  in  some  foolish,  wild  speculations.  In 
the  end  the  man  went  bankrupt,  everything  was  sold  up, 
and  they  were  very  poor  for  a  while — horribly  poor,  I  be- 
lieve. Then  the  elder  Varick  died,  and  his  widow  and 
Lionel  went  and  lived  at  Bedford.  I  gather  Lionel's 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       249 

mother  was  clever,  proud,  and  quarrelsome.  At  any  rate, 
she  quarrelled  with  her  people,  and  he  had  a  very  lonely 
boyhood  and  youth." 

"Then  you  know  very  little  of  how  Varick  lived  be- 
fore you  yourself  met  him?  How  old  would  he  have 
been  then,  Blanche?" 

"I  should  think  four  or  five-and-twenty,"  she  said  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"I  suppose,"  and  then  Mark  Gifford  looked  at  her  with 
a  troubled,  hesitating  look,  "I  suppose,  Blanche — I  fear 
I'm  going  to  surprise  you — that  you  were  not  aware  that 
he'd  been  married  before?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  eagerly,  "I  did  know  that,  Mark." 

What  on  earth  was  he  driving  at?  That  woman, 
Lionel  Varick's  first  wife,  was  surely  dead?  She, 
Blanche,  had  had,  by  a  curious  accident,  someone  else's 
word  for  that.  And  then — there  rose  before  her  the 
vision  of  a  ghastly-looking,  wild,  handsome  face;  quickly 
she  put  it  from  her,  and  went  on:  "He  married,  when 
he  was  only  nineteen,  a  girl  out  of  his  own  class.  They 
separated  for  a  while;  then  they  seem  to  have  come  to- 
gether again,  and,  fortunately  for  Lionel,  she  died." 

"She  died  murdered — poisoned." 

Mark  Gifford  uttered  the  dread  words  very  quietly. 
"Almost  certainly  poisoned  by  her  husband,  Lionel 
Varick." 

A  mist  came  over  Blanche  Farrow's  eyes.  She  turned 
suddenly  sick  and  faint. 

She  put  out  her  hand  blindly.  Gifford  took  it,  and 
made  her  sit  down  on  a  stone  bench. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  feelingly,  "very,  very  sorry  to  have 
had  to  tell  you  this  dreadful  thing,  Blanche." 


250       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"Never  mind/'  she  muttered.  "Go  on,  Mark,  if  there's 
anything  else  to  say — go  on." 

As  he  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  she  asked,  in  a 
dull,  tired  tone :  "But  if  this  awful  thing  is  true,  how  was 
it  found  out,  after  so  many  years?" 

"It's  a  peculiar  story,"  he  answered  reluctantly.  "The 
late — I  might  say  the  last — Mrs.  Varick,  whose  name,  as 
you  of  course  know,  was  Millicent  Fauncey,  had  first  as 
governess,  and  then  as  companion,  an  elderly  woman 
called  by  the  extraordinary  name  of  Pigchalke.  This 
Julia  Pigchalke  seemed  to  have  hated  Varick  from  the 
first.  She  violently  disapproved  of  the  engagement,  quar- 
relled with  Miss  Fauncey  about  it,  and  the  two  women 
never  met  after  the  marriage.  But  Miss  Pigchalke  evi- 
dently cared  deeply  for  poor  Mrs.  Varick;  I've  seen  her, 
and  convinced  myself  of  that." 

"What  is  she  like?"  asked  Blanche  suddenly. 

"Well,  she's  not  attractive!  A  stout,  stumpy,  grey- 
haired  woman,  with  a  very  red  face." 

Blanche  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands.  "Go  on," 
she  said  again,  "go  on,  Mark,  with  what  you  were 
saying." 

"Where  was  I  ?  Oh,  I  know  now !  When  Mrs.  Varick 
died,  within  less  than  a  year  of  her  marriage,  Miss  Pig- 
chalke suspected  foul  play,  and  she  deliberately  set  her- 
self to  track  Lionel  Varick  down.  She  made  it  her  busi- 
ness to  find  out  everything  about  him,  and  but  for  her  I 
think  we  may  take  it  that  he  would  have  gone  on  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter  a  respectable,  and  in  time  highly  re- 
spected, member  of  society." 

There  was  a  pause.  Blanche  was  staring  before  her, 
listening. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       251 

"About  five  weeks  ago,'*  went  on  Mark  Gifford 
quietly,  "Miss  Pigchalke  got  into  touch  with  the  head  of 
our  Criminal  Investigation  Department.  She  put  before 
him  certain — one  can  hardly  call  them  facts — but  certain 
discoveries  she  had  made,  which  led  to  the  body  of  the 
first  Mrs.  Varick  being  exhumed."  Blanche  Farrow  ut- 
tered a  stifled  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  Gifford  went 
on:  "I  may  add  that  Miss  Pigchalke  behaved  with  re- 
markable cunning  and  intelligence.  She  found  out  that 
the  doctor  at  Redsands — the  place  where  her  poor  friend 
died — was  a  firm  friend  of  Varick's.  She  thinks  him 
an  accomplice,  but  of  course  we  regard. that  as  nonsense, 
for  we've  found  out  all  about  the  man,  and  he  is  coming 
to  see  our  toxological  expert  to-morrow." 

(Then  that  was  Dr.  Panton's  urgent  appointment"  in 
town. ) 

"And  now,  Blanche,  comes  the  curious  part  of  the 
story!  The  doctor  who  had  attended  the  first  Mrs. 
Varick  years  and  years  ago  had  suspected  foul  play. 
He's  a  very  old  man  now,  and  he  retired  many  years 
ago,  but  he  happened  to  come  across  an  advertisement 
which  Miss  Pigchalke  put  into  one  of  the  Sunday  papers 
asking  for  information  concerning  Lionel  Varick's  past 
life.  He  answered  the  advertisement,  with  the  result 
that  his  one-time  patient  was  exhumed.  It  was  then 
found  beyond  doubt  that  the  woman  had  been  poisoned; 
and  a  few  days  ago  the  second  Mrs.  Varick's  body  was 
exhumed." 

Blanche  looked  up,  and  in  answer  to  her  haggard 
look,  he  said:  "Though  perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  tell  you 
so,  there  isn't  a  shadow  of  doubt  that  she  also  was  foully 
done  to  death,  and  rather  more  intelligently  than  the  other 


252       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

poor  soul,  for  in  her  case  the  process  was  allowed  to 
take  longer,  and  the  doctor  attending  her  was  quite  taken 


in." 


"How  horrible !"  muttered  Blanche.  "How  very,  very 
horrible!" 

"Yes,  horrible  indeed!  But  why  I've  come  here  to- 
day, Blanche,  is  to  tell  you  that  to-morrow  Lionel  Varick 
will  be  arrested  on  the  charge  of  murder.  I  have  come  to 
say  that  you  and  Bubbles  must  leave  Wyndfell  Hall  this 
afternoon." 

Blanche  hardly  heard  what  he  was  saying.  She  was 
absorbed  in  the  horror  and  in  the  amazement  of  the 
story  he  had  just  told  her,  and  in  what  was  going  to 
happen  to-morrow  to  the  man  who  had  been  for  so  long 
her  familiar  friend. 

"It  is  an  immense  relief  to  me  to  hear  that  you  never 
even  saw  the  late  Mrs.  Varick."  Mark  Gifford  went 
on:  "I  was  afraid  that  you  might  have  been  mixed  up 
with  this  dreadful  business;  that  he  might  have  used 
you  in  some  way." 

Blanche  shook  her  head,  and  he  went  on,  musingly : 
"There  were  two  ladies  living  next  door  to  the  house 
at  Redsands  where  the  poor  woman  was  done  to  death. 
They,  I  expect,  will  have  to  give  evidence,  at  least  I 
know  that  one  of  them  will,  a  certain  Miss — Miss — — ?" 

"Brabazon?"  supplied  Blanche  quickly. 

"Yes,  that's  the  name!  A  certain  Miss  Brabazon  was 
a  great  deal  with  Mrs.  Varick.  She  seems  to  have  been 
an  intimate  friend  of  both  the  husband  and  wife.  She 
used  to  go  out  with  Varick  for  motor  drives.  Has  he 
ever  spoken  to  you  of  her?" 

"Miss  Brabazon  is  here,  now,  at  Wyndfell  Hall,"  ex- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       253 

claimed  Blanche.  "You  must  have  heard  of  her,  Mark? 
She's  the  owner  of  some  tremendously  big  city  business." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  it  can  be  that  girl!" 

Mark  Gifford  looked  surprised  and  perturbed. 

"But  I  know  it's  that  girl.  She's  become  quite  a  friend 
of  mine,  and  of  Bubbles.  Oh,  Mark,  I  do  hope  Helen 
Brabazon  won't  be  brought  into  this  dreadful  business — 
d'you  think  that  will  be  really  necessary?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  slowly.  "But  some  of  our 
people  think  that  Varick  may  put  up  a  fight.  British 
criminal  law  is  much  too  kind  to  murderers.  Even  if 
there's  evidence  enough  to  hang  a  man  ten  times  over, 
there's  always  a  sporting  chance  he  may  get  off!  There 
is  in  this  case." 

Blanche  turned  suddenly  very  pale.  The  full  realiza- 
tion of  what  those  words  meant  rushed  upon  her.  He 
feared  she  was  going  to  faint. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  muttered.  "It's  stupid,  I  know; 
but  you  must  remember  that — that  I've  known  Lionel 
Varick  a  long  time." 

"I'm  not  a  bit  surprised  that  you  are  so  distressed," 
he  said  soothingly. 

And  then  something  happened  which  did  surprise 
Mark  Gifford!  He  was  supposed  to  be  a  clever,  intelli- 
gent man,  and  there  were  many  people  who  went  in  awe 
of  him;  but  he  knew  very  little  about  women.  This, 
perhaps,  was  why  he  felt  utterly  astounded  when  Blanche 
suddenly  burst  into  tears,  and  began  rocking  herself  back- 
wards and  forwards.  "Oh,  Mark!"  she  sobbed.  "Oh, 
Mark,  I'm  so  unhappy,— I'm  so  miserable — I'm  so  fright- 
ened. Do — do  help  me !" 

"That's  just  what  I  came  to  do,"  he  said  simply.    But 


254       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

he  was  very  much  troubled.  Her  face  was  full  of  a 
kind  of  agonized  appeal.  .  .  . 

Greatly  daring,  he  bent  down  over  her,  and  gathered 
her  into  his  arms. 

She  clung  to  him  convulsively;  and,  all  at  once,  there 
came  insistently  to  Mark  Gifford,  George  Herbert's 
beautiful  saying:  "There  is  an  hour  in  which  a  man  may 
be  happy  all  his  life,  can  he  but  find  it."  Perhaps  that 
hour,  that  moment,  had  come  to  him  now. 

"Blanche,"  he  whispered,  "Blanche— darling !  You 
didn't  really  mean  what  you  wrote  yesterday  ?  Don't  you 
think  the  time  has  come  when  two  such  old  friends  as 
you  and  I  might " 

" make  fools  of  themselves?" 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  there  came  a  quivering  smile 
over  her  disfigured  face.  "Yes,  if  you  really  wish  it, 
Mark.  I'll  do  just  as  you  like." 

"D'you  really  mean  that  ?"  he  asked. 

And  she  said  firmly:  "Yes,  Mark — I  really  do  mean 
it."  And  he  felt  her  yielding — yielding  in  spirit  as  well 
as  in  body — in  body  as  well  as  in  spirit. 

"I  suppose  you  couldn't  come  back  with  me  to  Lon- 
don, now?"  he  asked  a  little  shyly.  "We  could  get  the 
woman  at  the  post  office  down  there  to  send  up  a  letter  to 
Bubbles,  explaining  that  you  had  to  go  away  unexpect- 
edly, and  telling  her  to  follow  you  to  town  to-day." 

It  was  rather  a  wild  proposal,  and  he  was  not  surprised 
when  he  saw  her  shake  her  head.  "I  can't  do  that,"  she 
said.  "But  oh,  Mark,  I  wish  I  could !  Bubbles  is  in  bed. 
There  was  an  accident — it's  too  long  to  tell  you  about  it 
now.  But,  of  course,  I'll  manage  to  get  her  away  to- 
day." 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       255 

And  then  the  oppressive  horror  of  it  all  suddenly  came 
back  to  her.  "When  did  you  say  they  were  going  to 
arrest  Lionel?" 

She  uttered  the  words  slowly,  and  with  difficulty. 

"They're  going  to  arrest  him  to-morrow,  Friday,  in 
the  early  afternoon,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "By  God's 
mercy,"  he  spoke  simply,  reverently,  "I  got  your  letter 
in  time,  Blanche." 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously.  "I'm  afraid  even  now  you 
will  have  some  difficult  hours  to  live  through,"  and,  as  he 
saw  her  face  change,  "I  trust  absolutely  to  your  discre- 
tion," he  said  hesitatingly. 

"Of  course,"  she  gave  the  assurance  hurriedly.  "Of 
course  you  can  do  that,  Mark." 

Without  looking  at  her,  he  went  on: 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  house  has  been  watched  for 
some  days.  If  he  tries  to  get  away  he  will  destroy  the — 
the  sporting  chance  I  mentioned  just  now." 

"I  must  be  going  back,"  she  said,  getting  up.  "Sev- 
eral of  the  party  were,  in  any  case,  leaving  this  after- 
noon, and  I  must  manage  to  get  everybody  else  away  as 
well." 

Her  mind  was  in  a  whirl  of  conflicting  feelings  and 
emotions.  And  then,  all  at  once,  she  was  moved,  taken 
away  from  the  dreadful  problem  of  the  moment,  by  what 
she  saw  in  Mark  Gifford's  face.  It  was  filled  with  a 
kind  of  sober  gladness.  "Mark,"  she  exclaimed,  "what 
a  selfish  brute  I've  always  been  to  you — never  giving — 
always  taking!  I'll  try  to  be  different  now." 

She  held  out  her  hand ;  he  took  it  and  held  it  closely. 
"When  shall  I  see  you  again?"  he  asked.  "May  I  come 


256       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

and  meet  you  and  Bubbles  at  Liverpool  Street  to-mor- 
row?" 

"Yes — do.  That  will  be  a  great  comfort !"  And  then, 
acting  as  she  very  seldom  did,  on  impulse,  Blanche  rather 
shamefacedly  held  up  her  face  to  his.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AGAIN  and  again,  as  Blanche  Farrow  walked  slowly 
back  to  Wyndfell  Hall,  she  went  over  the  meagre 
details  of  the  strange  story  she  had  just  been  told. 
Again  and  again  she  tried  to  fill  in  the  bare  outlines  of 
the  tale. 

Lionel  Varick  a  murderer?  Her  mind,  her  heart,  re- 
fused to  accept  the  possibility. 

Suddenly  there  came  back  to  her  a  recollection  of  the 
curious,  now  many  years  old,  circumstances  which  had 
attended  her  knowledge  of  Varick's  first  marriage. 

Someone,  she  could  not  now  remember  who,  had  taken 
her  to  one  of  the  cheap  foreign  restaurants  in  Soho, 
which  were  not  then  so  much  frequented  by  English  peo- 
ple as  they  are  now.  She  had  been  surprised,  and  rather 
amused,  to  see  Lionel  Varick  at  a  neighbouring  table, 
apparently  entertaining  a  middle-aged,  rather  prim-look- 
ing lady,  whom  he  had  introduced  to  her,  Blanche,  rather 
unwillingly,  as  "my  friend,  Miss  Weatherfield." 

Then  had  come  the  strange  part  of  the  story! 

When  on  her  way  to  stay  with  some  friends  in  Sussex 
a  few  days  later,  she  found  herself  in  the  same  railway 
carriage  as  Miss  Weatherfield ;  and,  during  the  course  of 
some  desultory  talk,  the  latter  had  mentioned  that  she 
was  daughter  to  the  Chichester  doctor  who  had  attended 
Lionel  Varick's  wife  in  her  last  illness. 

Lionel  Varick's  wife?  For  a  moment  Blanche  had 

257 


258       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

thought  that  there  must  be  some  mistake,  or  that  her 
ears  had  betrayed  her.  But  she  very  soon  realized  that 
there  was  no  mistake,  and  that  she  had  heard  aright. 

Successfully  concealing  her  ignorance  of  the  fact  that 
their  mutual  friend  was  a  widower,  she  had  ventured  a 
few  discreet  questions,  to  which  had  come  willing  an- 
swers. These  made  it  clear  why  Varick  had  chosen  to  re- 
main silent  concerning  what  had  evidently  been  a  sordid 
and  melancholy  episode  of  his  past  life. 

Miss  Weatherfield  told  her  pleasant  new  acquaintance 
that  the  Varicks,  when  they  had  first  come  to  Chichester, 
had  been  very  poor,  the  wife  of  an  obviously  lower  class 
than  the  husband.  But  that  Varick,  being  the  gentleman 
he  was,  had  not  minded  what  he  did  to  earn  an  honest 
living,  and  that  through  Dr.  Weatherfield  he  had  ob- 
tained for  a  while  employment  with  a  chemist,  his  work 
being  that  of  taking  round  the  medicines,  as  he  was  not 
of  course  qualified  to  make  up  prescriptions. 

While  Miss  Weatherfield  had  babbled  on,  Blanche  had 
been  able  to  piece  together  what  had  evidently  been  a 
singularly  painful  story.  Mrs.  Varick  had  been  a  violent, 
disagreeable  woman,  and  the  kindly  spinster  had  felt 
deeply  sorry  for  the  husband,  himself  little  more  than  a 
boy.  But  she  admitted  that  her  father,  while  attending 
Mrs.  Varick,  had  acquired  a  prejudice  against  the  hus- 
band of  his  patient,  and  she  added,  smilingly,  that  it  was 
without  her  father's  knowledge  or  consent  that  she  had 
given  the  young  man,  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  a 
valuable  business  introduction. 

Miss  Weatherfield  evidently  flattered  herself  that  this 
introduction  had  been  a  turning-point  in  Varick's  life, 
and  that  what  appeared  to  her  his  present  prosperity  was 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       259 

owing  to  what  she  had  done.  In  any  case,  he  had  shown 
his  gratitude  by  keeping  in  touch  with  her,  and  on  the 
rare  occasions  when  she  came  to  London,  they  generally 
met. 

Blanche  Farrow,  even  in  those  early  days,  was  too 
much  a  woman  of  the  world  to  feel  as  surprised  as  some 
people  would  have  been.  All  the  same,  she  had  felt  dis- 
concerted and  a  little  pained,  that  the  man  who  was  fond 
of  telling  her  that  she  was  his  only  real  friend  in  the 
world  had  concealed  from  her  so  important  a  fact  as 
that  of  his  marriage. 

After  some  hesitation  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
tell  him  of  her  new-found  knowledge,  and  at  once  he  had 
filled  in  and  coloured  the  sketchy  outlines  of  the  picture 
drawn  by  the  rather  foolish  if  kindly  natured  Miss 
Weatherfield.  Yes,  it  was  true  that  he  had  been  a  fool, 
though  a  quixotic  fool — so  Blanche  had  felt  on  hearing 
his  version  of  the  story.  At  the  time  of  the  marriage 
Varick  had  been  nineteen,  his  wife  five  years  older.  The 
two  had  soon  parted,  but  they  had  made  up  their  differ- 
ences after  a  separation  which  lasted  four  years.  Varick's 
fortunes  had  then  been  at  their  lowest  ebb,  and  the  two 
had  drifted  to  Chichester,  where  Mrs.  Varick  had  humble, 
respectable  relations.  After  a  while  the  woman  had 
fallen  ill,  and  finally  died.  Blanche  had  seen  how  it  had 
pained  and  disturbed  Varick  to  rake  out  the  embers  of 
the  past,  and  neither  had  ever  referred  to  the  sad  story 
again. 

And  now,  from  considering  the  past,  Blanche  Farrow 
turned  shrinkingly  to  the  present. 

In  common  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  she  had  at  times 


26o       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

followed  the  course  of  some  great  murder  trial;  and  she 
had  been  interested,  as  most  intelligent  people  are  oc- 
casionally interested,  in  the  ins  and  outs  of  more  "than 
one  so-called  "poisoning  mystery.*' 

But  such  happenings  had  seemed  utterly  remote  from 
herself;  and  to  her  imagination  the  word  "murderer" 
had  connoted  an  eccentric,  cunning,  mentally  misshapen 
monster,  lacking  all  resemblance  to  the  vast  bulk  of 
human  kind.  She  tried  to  realize  that,  if  Mark  Gifford's 
tale  were  true,  a  man  with  whom  she  herself  had  long 
been  in  close  sympathy,  and  whose  peculiar  character 
she  had  rather  prided  herself  on  understanding,  had  been 
— nay,  was — such  a  monster. 

Blanche  felt  a  touch  of  shuddering  repulsion  from  her- 
self, as  well  as  from  Varick,  as  she  now  remembered 
how  sincerely  she  had  rejoiced  when,  reading  between 
the  lines  of  his  letter,  she  had  guessed  that  he  was  marry- 
ing an  unattractive  woman  for  her  money.  It  was  now 
a  comfort  to  feel  that,  even  so,  she  had  certainly  felt  a 
sensation  of  disgust  when  it  had  come  to  her  knowledge 
that  Varick  had  assumed,  with  regard  to  that  same  un- 
attractive woman,  an  extravagant  devotion  she  felt  con- 
vinced he  did  not — could  not — feel.  It  had  shocked  her, 
made  her  feel  uncomfortable,  to  hear  Helen  Brabazon's 
artless  allusions  to  the  tenderness  and  devotion  he  had 
lavished  on  "poor  Milly." 

Helen  Brabazon  ?  A  sensation  of  £ain,  almost  of 
shame,  swept  over  Blanche  Farrow.  Were  Helen  to 
appear  as  witness  in  a  cause  celebre  the  girl's  life  would 
henceforth  be  shadowed  and  smirched  by  an  awful 
memory.  And  then  there  rose  before  her  mind  another 
dread  possibility.  Was  it  not  possible — nay,  probable — 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       261 

that  she,  Blanche  Farrow,  would  be  sucked  into  the  vor- 
tex? 

She  remembered  a  case  in  which  the  prisoner  had  been 
charged  with  the  murder  of  a  relation  through  whose 
death  he  had  received  considerable  benefit,  and  how  four 
or  five  men  and  women  of  repute  had  been  called  to  testify 
to  his  high  character,  and  to  the  kindness  of  his  heart. 
But  their  evidence  had  availed  him  nothing,  for  he  had 
been  hanged. 

Blanche  quickened  her  footsteps  as,  in  imagination, 
she  saw  herself  in  the  witness-box  speaking  on  behalf  of 
Lionel  Varick. 

She  argued  with  herself  that,  after  all,  it  was  just 
possible  that  he  might  be  innocent!  If  so,  she  would 
fight  for  him  to  the  death,  and  that,  however  much  it 
distressed  and  angered  Mark  Gifford  that  she  should 
do  so. 

Absorbed  in  the  dread  and  terrible  thing  he  had  come 
to  tell  her,  she  had  not  given  him,  the  man  who  loved 
her,  and  whose  wife  she  was  to  be,  one  thought  since 
their  solemn,  rather  shamefaced,  embrace.  Yet  now  the 
knowledge  that,  however,  much  he  disapproved,  Mark 
would  stand  by  her,  gave  her  a  wonderful  feeling  of 
security,  of  having  left  the  open  sea  of  life  for  a  safe 
harbour — and  that  in  spite  of  the  terrible  hours,  perhaps 
the  terrible  weeks  and  months,  which  now  lay  before 
her. 

Turning  the  sharp  angle  which  led  to  the  gate  giving 
admittance  to  the  gardens  of  Wyndfell  Hall,  she  sud- 
denly met  Helen  Brabazon  face  to  face,  and  for  one 
wild  moment  Blanche  thought  that  Helen  knew.  The 


262        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

girl's  usually  placid,  comely  face  was  disfigured.  It  was 
plain  that  she  had  been  crying  bitterly. 

"I'm  going  to  the  village,"  she  exclaimed;  "I've  got 
to  go  home  to-day,  and  I  must  telegraph  to  my  uncle." 

"I  hope  you  haven't  had  bad  news?"  said  Blanche 
mechanically. 

She  was  telling  herself  that  it  was  quite,  quite  im- 
possible that  Helen  knew  anything — but  as  Helen,  who 
had  begun  crying  again,  shook  her  head,  Blanche  asked: 
"Does  Lionel  know  that  you  want  to  leave  to-day?" 

"Yes;  I  have  told  Mr.  Varick,"  and  then  all  at  <*ice 
she  exclaimed:  "Oh,  Miss  Farrow,  I  feel  so  utterly 
miserable!  Mr.  Varick  has  just  asked  me  to  be  his  wife, 
and  it  has  made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  been  so  treacherous 
to  Milly.  Yet  I  don't  think  I  did  anything  to  make  him 
like  me?  Do  you  think  I  did?" 

She  looked  appealingly  at  Blanche. 

It  was  plain  that  what  had  happened  had  given  her 
an  extraordinary  shock.  "I  am  sure,  now,"  she  went  on 
falteringly,  "that  Milly — poor,  poor  Milly — haunts  this 
house.  I  have  felt,  again  and  again,  as  if  she  were 
hovering  about  me.  I  believe  that  what  I  saw  in  the 
hall,  on  that  awful  afternoon,  was  really  her.  Yet  Mr. 
Varick  says  that  Milly  would  be  very  pleased  if  he  and 
I  were  to  marry  each  other.  Surely  he  is  mistaken?" 

"Yes,"  said  Blanche  slowly,  "I  think  he  is." 

"I  feel  so  miserable,"  went  on  the  girl,  still  speaking 
with  a  touch  of  excitement  which  in  her  was  so  very  un- 
usual. "What  happened  this  morning  has  spoiled  what 
I  thought  was  such  a  beautiful  friendship!  And  then  I 
feel  frightened — horribly  frightened" — she  went  on  in 
a  low  voice. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       263 

"What  is  it  that  frightens  you,  Helen?"  asked  Blanche. 

These  confidences  seemed  at  once  so  futile,  and  yet  also 
so  sinister,  knowing  what  she  now  knew. 

"I'm  afraid  that  Mr.  Varick  will  'will'  me  into  thinking 
I  care  for  him,"  the  girl  confessed  in  a  low  voice,  "fete 
says  that  he  will  never  give  up  hope,  and  that,  although 
he  knows  he  isn't  worthy  of  me,  he  thinks  that  in  time 
I  shall  care  for  him.  But  I  don't  want  to  care  for  him, 
Miss  Farrow — I'm  sure  that  Milly  is  jealous  of  me;  yet 
at  Redsands,  when  she  was  dying,  it  made  her  happy  that 
we  were  friends." 

"I  don't  think  you  need  be  afraid  that  Lionel  will  ever 
ask  you  to  marry  him  again,"  said  Blanche  firmly.  "And, 
Helen?  Let  me  give  you  a  word  of  advice.  Never, 
never,  tell  anyone  of  what  happened  to  you  this  morn- 
ing." 

The  girl  blushed  painfully.  "I  know  I  ought  not  to 
have  told  you,"  she  whispered,  "but  I  felt  so  wretched." 
She  hesitated,  and  then  added:  "Ever  since  it  happened 
I  have  been  remembering  that  first  evening,  when  my 
dear  father  warned  me  to  leave  this  house.  Oh,  how  I 
wish  I  had  done  what  he  told  me  to  do!" 

"I  think  you  are  wrong  there,"  said  Blanche.  "I  think 
a  day  will  come,  Helen,  and  in  spite  of  anything  that  has 
happened,  or  that  may  happen,  when  you  will  be  very 
glad  that  you  stayed  on  at  Wyndfell  Hall." 

"Do  you?"  she  said  wistfully  and  then  she  went  on, 
with  a  note  of  diffidence  and  shyness  which  touched  the 
older  woman :  "You  and  Bubbles  have  both  been  so  kind 
to  me — would  you  rather  that  I  stayed  on  with  you?  I 
will  if  you  like." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  Bubbles  and  I  are  going  away 


264       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

to-day,  after  all,"  said  Blanche,  "so  let  me  send  one  of 
the  men  down  with  your  telegram." 

"I  would  rather  take  it  myself — really!"  and  a  moment 
later  she  disappeared  round  the  sharp  turning  which  led 
on  to  the  open  road. 

***** 

Blanche  walked  on,  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  until  there 
fell  on  her  ears  the  sound  of  quick  footsteps.  She  looked 
up,  to  see  Varick's  tall  figure  hurrying  towards  her. 

They  met  by  the  moat  bridge,  and  as  he  came  up  to 
her  he  saw  her  pull  forward  the  veil  which,  neatly  ar- 
ranged round  the  rim  of  her  small  felt  hat,  was  not  really 
meant  to  cover  her  face. 

"Let's  walk  down  here  for  a  moment,"  he  said  abrupt- 
ly. "I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  Blanche." 

They  stepped  off  the  carriage  road  on  to  the  grass, 
and,  walking  on  a  few  paces,  stood  together  at  the  exact 
spot  from  which  Varick,  on  Christmas  Eve,  had  looked 
at  the  house  before  him  with  such  exultant  eyes. 

Three  weeks  ago  Wyndfell  Hall  had  appeared  kindly 
and  welcoming,  as  well  as  mysteriously  beautiful,  with 
its  old  diamond-paned  windows  all  aglow.  Now,  in  the 
wintry  daylight,  the  ancient  dwelling  house  still  looked 
mysteriously  beautiful;  but  there  was  something  cold, 
menacing,  forlorn  in  its  appearance.  The  windows  looked 
like  blind  eyes.  .  .  . 

He  turned  on  her  suddenly,  and  held  out  the  telegram 
she  had  received  that  morning. 

"One  of  the  servants  picked  this  up  on  the  breakfast 
table  and  brought  it  to  me.  What  the  devil  does  it  mean? 
If  Mark  Gifford  wanted  to  see  you  why  couldn't  he  come 
here?" 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       265 

Blanche  looked  at  him  dumbly.  Had  her  life  depended 
on  her  speaking  she  could  not  have  spoken  just  then. 

He  went  on:  "Have  you  seen  Gifford?  Did  he  say 
anything  about  me?" 

He  uttered  the  words  with  a  kind  of  breathless  haste. 
She  had  the  painful  feeling  that  he  wanted  to  put  her  in 
the  wrong,  to  quarrel  with  her.  Even  as  he  spoke  he 
was  tearing  the  telegram  into  small  pieces,  and  casting 
them  down  on  to  the  neat,  well-kept  grass  path. 

"I  suspect  I  know  the  business  he  came  about " 

He  was  speaking  quietly,  collectedly,  now,  and  she  felt 
that  he  was  making  a  great  effort  to  speak  calmly  and 
confidently. 

"I  don't  think,  Lionel,  that  you  can  know,"  she  an- 
swered at  last,  in  an  almost  inaudible  voice. 

"Well,  let  me  tell  you  what  it  is  that  I  suspect,"  he 
said. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  He  was  looking  at  her 
warily,  wondering,  evidently,  as  to  how  far  he  dared  con- 
fide in  her.  And  that  look  of  his  made  her  feel  sick  and 
faint. 

"I  suspect,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  Gifford  came  to  tell 
you  a  cock-and-bull  story  concocted  by  my  wife's  com- 
panion, a  woman  called  Julia  Pigchalke." 

"Yes,  Lionel,  you  have  guessed  right." 

It  was  an  unutterable  relief  that  he  thus  made  the  way 
easy  for  her;  a  relief — but  she  now  knew  that  what  Gif- 
ford had  told  her  was  true. 

"He  wants  me  to  get  everyone  away  from  here  to- 
day," she  went  on,  in  a  tone  so  low  that  he  could  scarcely 
hear  her. 

"Away  from  here?    To-day?"  he  repeated,  startled. 


266       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

"Yes,  away  before  to-morrow  midday."  She  moistened 
her  dry  lips  with  her  tongue. 

"I  am  the  victim  of  a  foul  conspiracy!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Panton  warned  me  that  I  should  have  trouble  with  that 
woman."  He  waited  a  moment,  then:  "Did  Gifford  tell 
you  that  they  have  sent  for  Panton?"  he  asked  suddenly. 
So  that,  she  told  herself,  was  what  had  really  put  him 
on  the  track.  She  nodded,  and  he  added  grimly :  "They 
won't  get  much  out  of  him." 

Then  he  was  going  to  fight  it — fight  it  to  the  last? 

"You  will  stand  my  friend,  Blanche,"  he  asked,  and 
slowly  she  bent  her  head. 

"Of  course  you  know  what  this  woman  Pigchalke 
wishes  to  prove?" 

He  was  now  looking  keenly,  breathlessly,  into  her  pale, 
set  face.  "Come,"  he  said,  "come,  Blanche — don't  be  so 
upset!  Tell  me  exactly  what  it  was  that  Gifford  told 
you." 

But  she  shook  her  head.    "I — I  can't,"  she  murmured. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  what  perhaps  he  felt  ashamed  to 
say  to  any  friend  of  mine — that  is  that  Julia  Pigchalke 
suspects  me  of  having  done  my  poor  Milly  to  death! 
She  went  and  saw  Panton;  she  did  more,  she  actually 
advertised  for  particulars  of  my  past  life.  Did  he  know 
that?" 

He  waited,  for  what  seemed  a  very  long  time  to 
Blanche,  and  then  in  a  voice  which,  try  as  he  might,  was 
yet  full  of  suppressed  anxiety,  he  added:  "She  had  got 
hold  somehow  of  the  fact  that  I  once  lived  at  Chichester." 

Blanche  looked  down,  and  she  counted  over,  twice,  the 
thirty  little  bits  of  the  torn  telegram  before  she  answered, 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       267 

in  a  low,  muffled  voice :  "It's  what  happened  at  Chichester, 
Lionel,  that  made  them  listen  to  hen" 

There  was  a  long  moment  of  tense,  of  terrible,  silence 
between  them. 

At  last  Varick  broke  the  silence,  and,  speaking  in  an 
easy,  if  excited,  conversational  tone,  he  exclaimed: 
"That's  a  bit  of  bad  luck  for  me!  I  have  an  enemy 
there — an  old  fool  of  a  doctor — father  of  that  woman 
you  met  me  with  years  ago." 

He  walked  on  a  few  steps,  leaving  her  standing,  and 
then  came  back  to  her. 

More  seriously  he  asked  the  fateful  question:  "I  take 
it  I  am  to  be  arrested  to-morrow?" 

He  saw  by  her  face  that  he  had  guessed  truly,  and  as 
if  speaking  to  himself,  he  said  musingly:  "That  means 
I  have  twenty- four  hours." 

She  forced  herself  to  say:  "They  think  you  have  a 
good  sporting  chance  if  you  stay  where  you  are." 

"It  never  occurred  to  me  to  go  away !"  he  said  angrily. 
"I  want  you  always  to  remember,  Blanche,  that  I  told 
you,  here,  and  now,  that,  even  if  appearances  may  come 
to  seem  damnably  against  me,  I  am  an  innocent  man." 

She  answered:  "I  will  always  remember  that,  and 
always  say  so." 

He  said  abruptly :  "I  want  you  to  do  me  a  kindness." 

She  asked  uneasily:  "What  is  it,  Lionel?" 

"I  want  you  to  get  Gifford  to  prevent  the  meeting 
which  has  been  arranged  for  to-morrow  morning  between 
Panton  and  the  Home  Office  expert  called  Spiller." 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  went  on :  "It  was  the  sum- 
mons to  Panton  which  put  me  on  the  track  of — of  this 


268       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

conspiracy."  And  Blanche  felt  that  this  time  Varick 
was  speaking  the  truth. 

She  said,  deprecatingly :  "Mark  would  do  a  great  deal 
to  please  me,  but  I'm  afraid  he  won't  do  that." 

"I  think  he  may,"  he  answered,  in  a  singular  tone, 
"you  may  have  a  greater  power  of  persuasion  than  you 
know." 

She  made  no  answer  to  that,  knowing  well  that  Mark 
would  never  interfere  with  regard  to  such  a  matter  as 
this. 

"Can  you  suggest  any  reason  I  can  give,  why  we  should 
be  all  going  away  to-day?"  she  asked  falteringly. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  answered :  "You  can 
say  there  has  been  trouble  among  the  servants,  and  that 
I  should  feel  much  obliged  if  I  could  have  the  house 
cleared  of  all  my  visitors  by  to-night." 

Then  Blanche  Farrow  came  to  a  sudden  determination. 
"I  will  get  them  all  away  to-day,  Lionel,  but  I,  myself, 
will  stay  till  to-morrow  morning." 

For  the  first  time  during  this  strange,  to  her  this  un- 
utterably painful  conversation,  Varick  showed  a  touch 
of  real,  genuine  feeling.  It  was  as  if  a  mask  had  fallen 
from  his  face. 

He  gripped  her  hand.  "You're  a  brick!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  ought  to  tell  you  to  go  away,  too,  but  I 
won't  be  proud,  Blanche.  I'll  accept  your  kindness." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THERE  are  hours  in  almost  every  life  of  which  the 
memory  is  put  away,  hidden,  as  far  as  may  be, 
in  an  unfathomable  pit.  Blanche  Farrow  never  recalled 
to  herself,  and  never  discussed  with  any  living  being, 
the  hours  which  followed  her  talk  with  Lionel  Varick. 

Of  the  five  people  to  whom  she  told  the  untrue  tale 
so  quickly  and  so  cleverly  imagined  by  their  host,  only 
one  suspected  that  she  was  not  telling  the  truth.  That 
one — oddly  enough — was  Sir  Lyon  Dilsford.  He 
guessed  that  something  was  wrong,  and  in  one  sense  he 
got  near  to  the  truth — but  it  was  such  a  very  small 
bit  of  the  truth! 

Sir  Lyon  suspected  that  Varick  had  made  an  offer 
to  Helen  Brabazon,  and  that  she  had  refused  him.  But 
he  was  never  to  know  if  his  suspicion  had  been  correct, 
for  he  was  one  of  those  rare  human  being  who  are  never 
tempted  to  ask  indiscreet  or  unnecessary  questions  from 
even  their  nearest  and  dearest. 

In  answer  to  Miss  Farrow's  apologies  and  explana- 
tions, everyone,  of  course,  expressed  himself  or  herself 
as  very  willing  to  fall  in  with  the  suggestion  that  they 
should  all  travel  up  to  town  together  that  day.  It  also 
seemed  quite  natural  to  them  all,  even  to  Bubbles,  that 
Blanche  should  stay  behind  for  the  one  night. 

She  was  not  the  sort  of  woman  to  leave  a  task  half 
done.  She  had  engaged  the  servants,  and  she  would  re- 

269 


270       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

main  to  settle  up  with  them.  The  average  man — and 
most  of  them  thought  Varick  an  average  man — is  help- 
less in  dealing  with  so  complicated  a  domestic  problem 
as  a  number  of  job  servants. 

As  the  hours  of  the  early  afternoon  went  by,  Blanche 
more  and  more  marvelled  at  Varick' s  extraordinary 
powers  of  self-command.  Excepting  that  he  was,  per- 
haps, a  little  more  restless  than  usual,  he  was  at  his  best 
as  the  courteous,  kindly  host,  now  parting  with  regret 
from  a  number  of  well-liked  guests. 

He  even  succeeded  in  putting  Helen  Brabazon  once 
more  at  her  ease,  for,  choosing  his  opportunity,  he  told 
her,  in  a  few  earnest  words  which  touched  her  deeply, 
that  he  had  come  to  see  her  point  of  view,  and  to  ac- 
quiesce in  her  decision. 

Blanche  heard  him  making  an  appointment  with  Dr. 
Panton  to  lunch  at  the  Ritz  on  one  of  the  days  of  the 
following  week.  He  asked  Sir  Lyon  to  join  them  there; 
and  Blanche  saw  the  look  of  real  chagrin  and  annoyance 
which  passed  over  his  face  when  Sir  Lyon  declined 
the  invitation. 

But  even  what  was  obviously  sincere  and  real,  seemed 
Utterly  insincere  and  unreal  to  Blanche  Farrow,  during 
those  tense  hours.  Thus,  when  she  overheard  Donning- 
ton  and  Bubbles  talking  over  the  arrangements  for  their 
wedding,  their  talk  seemed  to  her  all  make-believe. 

At  last,  however,  there  came  the  moment  for  which  she 
had  been  longing  for  what  seemed  to  her  an  eternity. 

Miss  Brabazon,  Sir  Lyqn,  and  Dr.  Panton  were  the 
first  to  go  off;  followed,  after  a  few  minutes'  interval, 
Donnington,  Bubbles,  and  the  luggage. 

Blanche  noticed  that  Lionel's  parting  with  Bubbles  was 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       271 

particularly  suave  and  cordial.  But  the  girl  was  not  at 
her  best.  When  her  host  touched  her,  accidentally,  she 
shrank  back,  and  his  face  clouded.  And,  as  the  motor 
drove  off,  he  turned  to  Blanche  and  said  discontentedly: 
"I  wish  Bubbles  liked  me  better,  Blanche!" 

She  hardly  knew  what  to  answer,  for  it  was  true  that 
the  girl  did  not  like  Varick,  and  had  never  liked  him. 
Yet  it  seemed  such  a  strange  thing  for  him  to  trouble 
about  that  now.  But  Lionel,  poor  Lionel,  had  always 
had  an  almost  morbid  wish  to  be  liked — to  stand  well 
with  people,  so  she  told  herself  with  a  strange  feeling  of 
pain  at  her  heart. 

They  walked  back  together  into  the  house,  and  Blanche, 
going  over  to  the  fire-place,  poured  herself  out  another 
cup  of  tea. 

In  a  sense  she  still  felt  as  if  she  was  living  through  a 
terrible,  unreal  dream,  and  yet  it  was  an  unutterable  re- 
lief to  be  no  longer  obliged  to  pretend. 

She  glanced  furtively  at  Varick. 

He  looked  calm,  cheerful,  collected.  "Will  you  excuse 
me  for  a  few  moments?  I  have  got  several  things  to 
do/'  he  said.  'Then  I  think  I  will  go  out  and  tramp 
about  for  a  bit.  It's  been  a  strain  for  you  as  well  as  for 
me,  Blanche,"  he  added  sympathetically. 

"Yes,  it  has,"  she  answered  almost  inaudibly. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  get  you?"  he  asked.  "Will 
you  be  quite  comfortable?" 

She  repeated,  mechanically:  "Quite  comfortable,  thank 
you,  Lionel,"  and  then,  as  an  after-thought:  "I  suppose 
*ve  shall  dine  at  the  same  time  as  usual?" 

"Certainly — why  not?"     He  looked  puzzled  at  her 


272       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

question.  "Let  me  see — it's  not  much  after  five  now; 
111  be  back  by  seven." 

He  walked  to  the  door,  and  from  there  turned  round. 
"So  long!"  he  cried  out  cheerily,  and  she  was  sur- 
prised, for  Varick  seldom  made  use  of  any  slang  or 
colloquialism. 

Feeling  all  at  once  utterly  exhausted  and  spent,  she 
drew  a  deep  chair  forward  to  the  fire  and  lay  back  in  it. 
Her  mind  seemed  completely  to  empty  itself  of  thought. 
She  neither  remembered  the  past  nor  considered  the 
future,  and  very  soon  she  slipped  off  into  a  deep  sleep — 
the  sleep  of  exhaustion  which  so  often  follows  a  great 

mental  strain. 

*  *  *  *  * 

It  must  have  been  over  an  hour  later  that  Blanche 
seemed  to  awaken  to  a  perception  that  the  big  oak  door 
behind  her,  which  gave  access  to  the  deep-eaved  porch, 
had  opened  and  closed. 

She  looked  round ;  and,  in  the  candle-light,  for  the  fire 
had  died  down,  she  saw  Varick,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left,  walk  quickly  across  the  long  room 
and  slip  noiselessy  through  the  door  leading  to  the  in- 
terior of  the  house. 

Then  it  was  seven  o'clock?  Nearly  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  before  she  must  go  up  and  dress  for  dinner. 

Almost  at  once  she  was  asleep  again,  to  be,  however, 
thoroughly  awakened  a  few  moments  later  by  the  open- 
ing and  the  shutting  of  a  door. 

It  was  the  old  butler,  a  man  Blanche  had  come  to  like 
and  to  respect. 

He  held  a  salver  in  his  hand,  and  on  the  salver  was  a 
letter.  "Mr.  Varick  asked  me  to  give  you  this  note  at 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       273 

a  quarter-past  seven,  ma'am.  I  understood  him  to  say 
that  he  might  be  late  for  dinner  to-night  as  he  had  to  go 
up  to  the  Reservoir  Cottage." 

Blanche  sat  up,  all  her  senses  suddenly  on  the  alert. 

"Mr.  Varick  came  in  some  minutes  ago/'  she  said, 
"at  least,  I  think  he  did." 

She  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  Lionel  had  really  come 
in,  or  if  she  had  only  dreamt  that  he  had  done  so. 

"I  don't  think  he  came  in,  ma'am,  for  I've  been  in  the 
dining-room,  with  the  door  open,  for  a  long  time.  I 
would  have  heard  him  if  he  had  come  through  and  gone 
upstairs." 

"You  might  see  if  he  is  in,"  she  said  quietly. 

She  took  the  letter  off  the  salver,  but  did  not  break 
the  seal  till  the  old  man  had  come  back  with  the  words : 
"No,  ma'am,  Mr.  Varick  is  not  in  the  house." 

He  lingered  on  for  a  moment.  "I  hope  you  will  for- 
give me,  ma'am,  for  mentioning  that  Mr.  Varick  told 
us  we  could  all  go  off  early  to-morrow  morning  if  we 
liked,  instead  of  next  Monday.  He  paid  us  up  after  the 
visitors  had  gone  away,  and  he  also  gave  us  the  bonus 
he  so  kindly  promised.  I  never  wish  to  serve  a  more 
generous  gentleman.  But  the  chef  and  I  decided  that  we 
would  ask  you,  ma'am,  if  it  is  for  your  convenience  that 
we  leave  early  to-morrow?" 

"Anything  that  Mr.  Varick  has  arranged  with  you 
will  suit  me,"  she  said  quickly.  "As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  think  he  would  like  you  to  leave  by  the  train  I  shall  be 
going  by  myself." 

As  the  man  turned  away  she  looked  down  at  Varick's 
letter.  On  the  envelope  was  written  in  his  good,  clear 
handwriting:  "The  Hon.  Blanche  Farrow,  Wyndfell 


274       FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

Hall-."     But  no  premonition  of  its  contents  reached  her 
still  weary,  excited  brain. 

Written  on  a  large  plain  sheet  of  paper,  the  letter 
ran: 

"Mv  DEAR  BLANCHE, — I  fear  I  am  going  to  give  you 
a  shock — for,  by  the  time  this  reaches  you,  there  will 
have  been  another  accident — one  very  similar  to  that 
which  befell  poor  little  Bubbles.  But  this  time  there  will 
be  no  clever,  skilful  Panton  to  bring  the  drowned  to  life. 

"I  suggest  that  you  begin  to  feel  uneasy  about  a  quarter 
past  eight.  I  leave  to  your  good  sense  the  details  of  the 
sad  discovery.  I  have  but  one  request  to  make  to  you, 
kindest  and  truest  of  friends ;  that  is,  that  you  remember 
what  I  asked  you  to  do  with  reference  to  Panton's  ap- 
pointment to-morrow  morning.  If  you  can  get  a  tele- 
gram or  telephone  message  through  to  Gifford  to-night, 
I  think  that  appointment  will  be  postponed  indefinitely. 
You  .will  perhaps  think  me  a  sentimental  fool  for  wish- 
ing to  keep  Panton's  good  opinion,  but  such  is  my  wish. 

"I  am  distressed  at  the  thought  of  the  trouble  and 
worry  to  which  you  must  inevitably  be  exposed  to- 
night. On  the  other  hand,  much  more  trouble  and  worry 
in  the  future  will  thus  have  been  saved,  even  to  you. 

"Yours  ever, 

"LIONEL  VARICK. 

"I  trust  to  your  friendship  to  destroy  this  letter  as 
soon  as  read." 

Blanche  read  the  letter  once  again,  right  through,  then 
she  held  out  the  big  sheet  of  paper,  and  dropped  it  into 
the  heart  of  the  fire. 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       275, 

For  the  second  time  that  day  she  burst  into  tears, 
shaken  to  the  depths  by  the  extraordinarily  complicated 
feelings  which  filled  her  heart  and  mind,  feelings  of 
horror  and  of  pain — and  yet  of  intense,  immeasurable 
relief! 

Then  she  pulled  herself  together,  and  prepared  to  act, 
for  the  second  time  that  day,  her  part  in  a  tragi-comedy 
in  which  where  there  had  been  two  characters  there  was 
now  but  one. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

DR.  PANTON'S  appointment  at  the  Home  Office 
had  been  for  half -past  ten,  and,  though  there  hap- 
pened to  be  on  this  early*  January  day  an  old-fashioned, 
black  London  fog,  he  had  been  punctual  to  the  minute. 

It  was  now  eight  minutes  to  eleven,  and  he  began  to 
feel  rather  cross  and  impatient. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  in  the  big,  ugly,  stately  room 
into  which  he  had  been  shown.  There  was  a  book- 
case, but  it  was  locked,  and  he  had  not  brought  a  paper 
with  him — but  that,  perhaps,  was  a  good  thing,  for  the 
one  electric  globe  gave  a  very  bad  light. 

He  wondered  what  manner  of  man  Dr.  Spiller  might 
be — in  any  case  a  remarkable  and  distinguished  person, 
one  of  the  great  authorities  on  poisons  in  Europe. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  Dr.  Panton  felt  surprised 
— even  a  little  disappointed.  Not  so  had  he  imagined  the 
famous  Spiller. 

"Forgive  me  for  having  kept  you  waiting,  Dr. — er — 
Panton." 

The  tone  of  the  quiet-looking,  middle-aged  man  who 
stood  before  him  was  extremely  courteous,  if  a  trifle 
uncertain  and  nervous. 

"If  I  hadn't  been  lodging  close  by  I  should  have  been 
late,  too,  Dr.  Spiller." 

"My  name  is  not  Spiller,"  said  the  other  quickly.  "I 
have  come  to  explain  to  you  that  the  matter  concerning 

276 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       277 

which  you  were  to  see  Dr.  Spiller  this  morning  has  been 
settled.  We  should  have  saved  you  the  trouble  of  com- 
ing here  had  we  known  where  you  were  staying  in  Lon- 
don." 

Dr.  Panton  felt,  not  unreasonably,  annoyed.  "If  only 
Dr.  Spiller  had  sent  me  a  wire  yesterday, "  he  exclaimed 
vexedly,  "he  had  my  address  in  the  country,  I  should 
have  been  saved  a  useless  visit  to  London!" 

"He  couldn't  have  let  you  know  in  time,  for  the  matter 
was  only  settled  this  morning." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  the  speaker  added:  "You 
will  send  in  a  minute  of  your  expenses,  of  course?" 

Dr.  Panton  bowed  stiffly.  He  felt  that  he  had  been 
badly  treated. 

"I'm  sorry  you  have  been  put  to  this  inconvenience," 
and  the  courteous  Home  Office  official  really  did  look 
distressed.  He  waited  a  moment.  "I  think  you  know 
a  friend  of  mine,  Miss  Blanche  Farrow,  Dr.  Panton?" 
he  said  a  little  awkwardly. 

"Yes;  we've  both  been  staying  in  the  same  house  for 
the  New  Year." 

Panton's  good-humour  had  come  back;  he  was  telling 
himself,  with  some  amusement,  how  very  small  the  world 
is,  after  all ! 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Panton  asked:  "Do  you 
happen  to  know  Lionel  Varick,  who  owns  the  beautiful 
house  where  Miss  Farrow  and  I  have  both  been  staying, 
Mr.— er ?" 

"Gifford,"  supplied  the  other  quickly.  "Yes,  I  have 
been  slightly  acquainted  with  Mr.  Varick  for  some 
years."  A  very  uncomfortable,  peculiar  look  came  over 
the  speaker's  face.  "I  wonder  if  you  have  heard  of  the 


278        FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP 

terrible  thing  which  happened  yesterday  at  Wyndfell 
Hall?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"I  only  left  the  house  at  five  o'clock/'  exclaimed  Dr. 
Panton;  and  then,  as  he  saw  the  look  of  gravity  deepen 
on  the  other  man's  face,  he  asked :  "Was  there  a  fire  there 
last  night?  I  trust  not!" 

"No,"  said  the  other,  slowly,  "nothing  has  happened 
to  the  house,  Dr.  Panton.  But  your  friend  Mr.  Varick 
is  dead.  He  went  out  for  a  walk  in  the  dark,  and  seems 
to  have  slipped  over  the  side  of  an  embankment  into 
deep  water.  His  body  was  not  recovered  for  some  hours 
— in  fact,  not  till  early  this  morning." 

Dr.  Panton  got  up  from  the  chair  on  which  he  had 
been  sitting.  He  was  too  shocked,  too  taken  aback,  to 
speak,  and  the  other  went  on : 

"I  cannot  give  you  many  details,  for  when  Miss  Farrow 
telephoned  to  me  she  was  very  much  upset,  and  the  line 
was  very  bad.  But  I  may  add  that  there  is  no  doubt 
about  it,  for  the  news  was  confirmed,  through  another 
source,  half  an  hour  later." 

"What  a  terrible  thing!  What  an  awful — awful 
thing!" 

The  young  doctor  looked  overwhelmed  with  horror 
and  surprise.  "You  must  forgive  me,"  he  went  on,  "if 
I  seem  unduly  shocked ;  but  I  have  lost  in  Lionel  Varick 
one  of  the  best  friends  man  ever  had,  Mr.  Gifford — I'd 
have  sold  the  shirt  off  my  back  for  him  and  I  think  I  may 
say  he'd  have  done  the  same  for  me." 

Mark  Gifford,  cautious  man  though  he  was,  took  a  sud- 
den resolution.  "If  you  can  spare  the  time,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "I  wonder,  Dr.  Panton,  if  you  would  go  back  to 
Wyndfell  Hall  to-day?  It  would  be  an  act  of  true  kind- 


FROM  OUT  THE  VASTY  DEEP       279 

ness  to  Miss  Farrow.  I  had  thought  of  going  myself; 
but,  as  you  seem  to  have  been  such  a  friend  of  Va- 
rick's ?" 

"Of  course  I'll  go  down — by  the  very  first  train  I  can 
catch!"  answered  Panton  eagerly. 

"Perhaps  you  could  persuade  Miss  Farrow  to  come  up 
to  London  at  once,  and  leave  all  the  sad  details  con- 
nected with  the  inquest,  and  so  on,  to  you?" 

"I  will  indeed!  Miss  Farrow  must  be  terribly  dis- 
tressed, for  I  know  she  was  a  very,  very  close  friend  of 
poor  Varick's." 

Mark  Gifford  winced — it  was  a  very  slight  movement, 
quite  unperceived  by  Dr.  Panton. 

To  the  surprise  of  his  subordinates,  who  had  never 
seen  him  do  so  much  honour  to  any  male  visitor  before, 
Mr.  Gifford  accompanied  the  young  medical  man  along 
the  corridor,  down  the  stone  staircase,  and  through  to 
the  great  outer  arch  which  gives  on  to  the  quiet  street. 

At  the  moment  of  their  final  parting  Dr.  Panton  ex- 
claimed: "Am  I  to  understand  that  Dr.  Spiller  will  not 
be  sending  for  me  again?" 

"I  thought  I  had  made  it  clear,"  replied  Mr.  Gifford 
mildly,  "that  the  matter  about  which  he  wished  to  see 
you  is  now  closed." 


THE  END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


*REte'#60aBr 

HIM  7    'R4.-1  PM 

UUIi   1       W*T    A  * 

M  A  V   O        in"?n 

MAY  y    19/9 

REG.  CIR.     APR  1  6    1 

)79 

LD  21A-60m-4,'64 
(E4555slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

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